Marriage
by SirenAlpha
Summary: England wasn't the type to settle down. She didn't know why she agreed. Perhaps it was because she couldn't find a good reason to say no to him. Ringland
1. Chapter 1

This story takes place about 2 centuries into the future and there are a number of genderbent nations including England. There's not going to be too much focus on the future aside from a more diplomatic political reality.

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><p>It had been decades since the last serious war. All imperialism and empires were merely memories, and pages in history books. America was the nation to start the fad of sorts. The economic disputes between America and China had disappeared, and with the establishment of a new more democratic government in the eastern nation, the countries had grown close in nearly every way. They created an alliance that was even closer than the special relationship America had with England and the UK. This, for the personifications, was marriage. America had been the one to propose despite being a woman. Now, all citizens were expecting their countries to pair off, and were even holding votes or opinion polls to see which country to pair with.<p>

Curiously enough, the pairings the polls predicted all agreed with the current state of relationships between personifications that the citizens had no idea of. The feminine, shy, and sweet Canada had married the boisterous, adventurous Australia. Carefree, cheerful Spain married the spiteful temptress known as the southern personification of Italy. Her much more lighthearted sister married the stern and organized personification of Germany. The adorable, quiet Liechtenstein, and the slightly awkward, but handsome Luxembourg had married with Switzerland's blessing. Most of the countries had married, and England had attended near every wedding. Still, she lived alone, and her citizen's never chose a clear leader in the public opinion polls.

She heard a knock on her door. She opened her front door to find Russia standing on the other side of her door. He looked much more calm than usual as his creepy smile was missing. "May I come in?" he asked.

She nodded, not expecting the politeness he presented her with. She stepped aside, and he entered her home, ducking automatically on the way in. She closed her door, and guided him into her living room.

"Take any seat you'd like, would you like anything to eat or drink?" she asked, acting as the best hostess she could.

"No, that's fine. I would just like it if you would sit and talk with me," he answered, taking a seat on her couch, making sure to keep his long legs tucked in close.

"Very well," she took the armchair across from the couch.

"I have a proposition for you," he said. His voice lacked any signs of nervousness. Whatever he was asking could not be too outrageous then.

"Your proposition is?" she asked, tilting her head.

"I would very much like to marry you," Russia answered.

England couldn't help it, and burst out chortling. His proposition was too strange and inconceivable to be serious. "Come now, you must be joking," she said, shaking her head at the absurdity.

"I am absolutely serious. With each passing day, my sister gets closer to marrying me, and I do not wish for that to happen," he answered, his tone grave.

"I do not understand, why me?" she asked, leaning forward, interested in his response.

"Out of those still available, you fear me least. I believe that if we were to live together, even if we never fell in love, we could still be happy. I intend to allow you any conditions you wish to place on the marriage," he replied.

England was quite shocked by the admission, and that he intended to make it as convenient for her as possible. She quickly considered her options. Her options for suitors were dwindling down, and many were totally undesirable. Russia himself was not entirely terrible. They had been allies before, and it had not been completely disastrous. With the conditions she could place, it could be a relationship not too different from that. It would be a marriage in name only, but she could live with that. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so alone.

"I accept your proposal, and I want our bosses to be involved in setting the conditions. We can set our rules and ensure that both parties find them fair," she answered, looking him straight in the eye as she did so.

He gave her a genuine smile without a hint of madness in it, "Excellent, the meeting will be next week."

"Is there anything else you would like to discuss?" she asked.

"No," he answered honestly, his smile fading some.

England's eyebrows rose of their own accord, "You came all this way to visit me just to propose?"

Russia cocked his head to the side, "Is that not what most men do?"

It almost sounded cheeky. She couldn't help it when a small smile tugged at her lips. She felt embarrassed, realizing that he was right, and quickly ran her fingers through her loose hair. "It is," she conceded, "but not most nations."

Russia leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on top of his knees. "Truthfully," he began, clasping his hands and not directly looking at her, "I did not expect you to agree so quickly."

"Really?"

He was amused by her response, and was once again facing her. "No, you are most obstinate to men," he shrugged.

"If you mean France then yes," she answered, nodding once.

Russia actually chuckled at that. She was mostly surprised that he was chuckling at all. Just like his smile, however, it didn't have its usual sinister aura. He was laughing at something he found amusing that did not any way benefit him, or hurt someone else. It was deep and didn't last for long, but England decided she wouldn't mind hearing it again.

She looked at Russia, really looked at him this time. He was tall and broad with light hair, skin, and eyes. His nose was sloped, and just slightly off of being straight, and though large, suited his face and physique. His lips, though decently plump, were perfectly masculine and just the right distance beneath his nose. His cheekbones, though not as high as her own, were apparent enough, and his cheeks smooth and naturally pinkish. His eyes were surrounded by thick eyelashes, and his eyebrows were darker than his hair of medium length with a bit of wave to it. He was, quite oddly, perfectly comfortable in her presence and as she stared at him. He had a pretty face, and she was doing her best to try and see beneath it. He gave her a questioning glance as she did this, but she ignored it.

"Do you really think we could fall in love?"

He took a deep breath in before answering, "I wouldn't say so if I didn't think it."

"That's not true," England answered, and the moment after hoping it hadn't been as snappish as it sounded to her own ears.

"These are different matters," Russia argued, frowning slightly, "We say what we have to in politics."

"How is this not politics?" she asked, raising a brow. They were nations, everything they did was politics. Unless, she reminded herself, one goes about breaking their own laws.

"Because Russia is not proposing to England," he answered, deadpan, "I am proposing to you."

It clicked for her in that moment. He was telling the truth, he was asking for her hand because he wanted to marry her out of all the others. She was suddenly much happier that she had accepted his proposal. His government wasn't asking him to marry her, and her government had done nothing by ways of marriage. The reason all the other nations had begun to marry suddenly made sense. In that moment, she believed that maybe they could fall in love.

Russia checked his wristwatch. He then stood, "I'm sorry, but I must be going."

"It's fine," she said, rising smoothly from her chair, "I'll walk you to the door."

He followed her back to the wooden door he had entered through. She pulled open the door for him. He smiled at her for one last time before exiting onto the street. She smiled at his back before shutting the door.

That night, a new opinion poll was published in the paper. England's interest was piqued when she noticed that one line rose high above the others in the graph. The label read 'Russia'. She felt a little heat rise to her cheeks at the sight of his name, and it felt like her stomach had decided to board a ship. She read the paragraph beneath the graph. The writer twittered on about how there was no explanation for the sudden interest in partnering with Russia, and England didn't bother reading after that.

Their meeting went smoothly. It was decided that England and Russia would live together year round. From the spring equinox to the fall equinox they would live in Russia's house, and the other half of the year would be spent in England. This decision was almost solely based on weather. Under certain circumstances they were allowed to live apart for the sake of being able to properly conduct business in their own countries. Complete fidelity was expected from both personifications. Absolutely no abuse or spousal rape was to be tolerated, and problems were to be discussed as calmly as possible.

There were a few other little extra rules for just in case, but their bosses only added one condition. They were to sleep in the same bed. Neither England nor Russia could pry the reason from their bosses' lips. At the end of the meeting, after the signing of the legally binding document, England was surprised with Russia getting down on one knee, and presenting her with a ring. Celebrations occurred in both nations that night.

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><p>I've been fiddling around with want I want to do with this story for a while so there's not going to be a lot of Author's Notes for a while. Just the same, it would be nice if you could review as much as you can!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

England had been understandably nervous during her wedding ceremony. Everyone and their bosses had been there to see her marry Russia. She hated to make mistakes, especially in front of people, and marriage seemed to be the perfect opportunity to make one. She had become even more flustered when Russia had gently pecked her on the lips at the priest's behest. It hadn't been bad, it was just unexpected. Even more mortifying was that she had only stood there and blushed. Russia had been the one to guide her out to the limousine as she kept her head down, and avoided eyes.

They were currently driving to the reception, and she couldn't stop fidgeting with her dress. It was pretty, but she couldn't help but hate it. White was not her color, and it was not in the least bit comfortable. It was a strapless that fit her form, with wires hidden throughout the bodice to keep its shape. The bodice flowed seamlessly into the skirt that flowed and swirled gently around her legs. The decorative beading irritated the skin on her arms, the ribbing poked into her sides, her breasts seemed determined to slip out of their confines, and the train of the dress was ridiculously long in her opinion. She hoped nothing had gotten caught underneath it.

She was led into the reception, her arm linked with Russia's. He was dressed much more simply in his military garb, identifying him as a soldier. She had asked if she could be married in her uniform, her boss hadn't wanted to argue the matter and would have let her, but Russia's boss had insisted she wear a formal dress of white. She had haltingly and only begrudgingly accepted the term. The two bosses' wives had helped her pick the dress once they realized she had been intent upon finding something designed to offend someone.

The crowd gathered at the reception clapped and cheered at their arrival, and parted so they could stand on the dance floor. The DJ began to play the song they had chosen for the first dance. It was an instrumental version of Green Sleeves. It wasn't the most suiting song, but England loved the melody. Russia led her along in simple steps through the dance. They didn't look at each other throughout the dance. England kept her eyes on the ground to avoid catching the eye of anyone watching. No toes were stepped on, but she was still quite relieved to be released at the end of the song.

Before she could do anything, America and Canada took her by the elbows and led her off the dance floor. She didn't bother to try and force them to release her, or even look over her shoulder at Russia. They guided her into a chair, and sat down beside her. "Why didn't you tell us you were going to marry Russia?" America asked, leaning into her personal space. She looked honestly concerned, but England still felt irritated. The whole situation was much too dramatic in her opinion. Her boss wouldn't have wanted her wedding to be anything less.

"I didn't know how to tell you," she answered honestly. She had thought of ways time and again, but found she had run out of time before sending all of the invitations.

"Do you love him?" Canada asked. She was just as concerned as her sister. Her relationship with Russia, however, seemed more important to the Canadian than the fact that her relationship was with Russia, which was obviously America's concern.

"I can't answer that," England told her.

"How can you marry him, and not love him?" America asked, with a confused look on her face.

"It was once common, you've grown up in a different time than I have," she assured her.

"But why him?" America continued.

"He's the best option I have," she answered, "I know that you have not fully forgiven him, or released your grudge against him. I do not fully support all the decisions he has made, but I am aware he is not the only person at fault. I have forgiven him. It's not my problem if you can't, so deal with it. I don't wish to discuss this with you any longer."

"May I have this dance?"

England turned to the voice to see Russia bowing slightly and offering her his hand. The music had changed to the faster, and more modern beats popular now. She nodded, and placed her hand in his. She glanced back at the two sisters. Both looked annoyed, most likely because Russia had taken her from them. They had always hated it when she left them.

Russia led her to the dance floor, along the edge where there was a little more breathing room. He faced her, and lightly placed his hands upon her waist. She could not comfortably reach his shoulders, and settled for placing her hands on his biceps. They were near an arm's length apart, but they were in rhythm with each other, and the music. It was hardly romantic, but it was far from uncomfortable as England had expected it to be.

His creepy smile, however, was back, and doubts clouded England's mind. Could she be safe with him? Would he respect her and her privacy? Had she made the right choice? She had just defended herself against America, but she still carried uncertainties. She bit her lip, and tried to quell her thoughts. She would have to wait, and see how it all played out.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she answered quickly. She was unsettled almost entirely by this experience, but she felt she could deal with it. She held back a sigh, and avoided making eye contact with her new husband.

There were many couples around them. Some were face to face as they were, but were either much closer or only holding hands. A few girls had their backs to their partner's chest, but there was no grinding. This was an immense relief to England, though she supposed no one was grinding out of fear of Russia. She was having trouble truly considering him her husband, but she supposed she was allowed to be given time for this.

She glanced up at the tall man. His smile was still painted across his face, but his eyes were shifting about the rest of the room. She suddenly had a thought that maybe his smile was a nervous tick of sorts. She rubbed her hand over his arm to gain his attention. His focused rested on her. "Are you alright?" she repeated the question he had asked her.

He nodded, "I'm alright."

"Are you uncomfortable with all these people?" she asked. Russia said nothing, but his smile lessened, just a smidge. England sighed, irritated with herself, "I knew I shouldn't have invited so many people."

"It's not your fault," Russia immediately assured her.

The song changed, and they adjusted to the new tempo accordingly. They danced for only a moment longer, before Russia was tapped on the shoulder. "May I cut in?" France asked.

Russia responded with his usual smile and a nod. He released England, and wandered away from them without a word in parting. England watched him leave then turned her attention back to France. She crossed her arms, and glared at him, "What do you want?"

"Only a dance," he replied. France reached out and wrapped his arms around England's waist. His hands overlapped as he pulled her body against his. The limited space only allowed for them to sway in time with the beat. England made it even more difficult by leaving her arms crossed to separate their chests.

"Oh, don't be like that," France crooned. England only hunched her shoulders in response. "Everyone's curious," he stated.

England raised an eyebrow, hoping he'll just get on with his point. "What has made the great and terrible England settle?" he smirked, looking much to mischievous for England's liking.

She scowled. She attempted to shove him away, but he wound his arms tighter. "It couldn't be the money, Russia isn't that wealthy. It's certainly not for looks, or the sex," he mused, with a look in his eye that told her he definitely wasn't playing nice, "Is little England lonely?"

England growled, and shoved with all her might against his chest, but he refused to budge. She hit him as hard as she could when he didn't release her. "It is you who is in need of company," she spat, "Company that doesn't stay because they are paid."

France's teasing smile disappeared, and a hard look came across his features. He sneered at her, "I'll be counting the days until someone finds your mangled body in a river in Russia."

"And when that day comes," England snarled, "They will find yours shoved under the bed of a prostitute."

France growled, and pulled his arms away. He gave her one last glare before storming away from the festivities. She felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Russia, again, "They want to take pictures, now."

"Very well," she said, allowing him to guide her through the people and tables to where the photographers wanted them.

She and Russia were placed in the center as her brides-maids and his best man and grooms stood around them. England did her best to present a smile, rather than a snarl. She suffered silently through all the pictures with the annoyingly and obnoxiously cheerful photographer, not to mention corny. She dropped her smile as soon as he announced he was finished. Everyone returned to the dance floor, and she turned to follow them.

"You know, we don't have to go back," Russia said, stilling her.

She turned back to face him. He wasn't looking at her, "We could just leave."

She glanced at the dance floor. She could see her brothers coming towards her. "I find this a suitable option, let's go," she said, facing him.

He nodded, and led the way to the limousine. He pulled the door open, stepping aside to let her in. She settled herself on the plush seat, making sure to pull in her train, and he shut the door. He joined her on the other side. He gave her a smile, and she returned it, feeling like she shouldn't be so excited to leave her own wedding reception.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," she told him, "Let's go anywhere."

"Very well, Miss," the driver said, nodding before stepping on the gas.

With hardly anyone noticing, the 'just married' couple disappeared from their own party.


	3. Chapter 3

England stepped gracefully out of the taxi cab. She readjusted her purse, and stared up at the grand house she was going to live in. She searched the front of the house for any defects as the cab driver pulled out her luggage. He tapped her on the shoulder when he finished. "Thank you," she told him, handing him the fare.

He nodded, and returned to his car and drove off. She didn't waste any time watching him, and picked up her luggage, and carried it to the front step. She set her belongings down before ringing the doorbell. After only a few seconds, Russia opened the door. He grinned at her, "Welcome back."

After she and Russia had left their wedding, they had stopped at his house. Neither had wanted a honeymoon, and had merely spent an awkward night together before England returned to her hotel to collect her luggage. Their bosses hadn't allowed her to move in until they were married, and, though he had offered, she had refused to let Russia accompany her. She had collected her baggage in peace and quiet, steeling herself for a long marriage for the umpteenth time since his proposal. She had returned when she felt ready to deal with the rest of her life being attached to him.

"Thank you," she replied, bringing herself and her things inside.

He took a suitcase from her, and she opened her mouth to tell him off, but he only shook his head. He wasn't going to let her carry up all of her luggage by herself. She was quite glad to be rid of some of the weight, but wasn't going to tell him that. He led her back to the master bedroom, and set her suitcase down on the bed.

"I'll let you be," he said kindly, leaving the room to herself.

She sighed heavily, and set down all she was carrying. She flopped down onto the bed, taking a few moments to gather the energy she needed to unpack. She eventually forced herself to get up, and unzip the first suitcase. She began pulling out whole sections of clothes and stuffing them away in her new bureau. In a matter of hours she pulled out all of her belongings and had them stored away in their new housings. She sat down on the bed to just look at the room around her. She wondered how long it would take for her to get used to this, and all the work she would have to do while here.

She smelled food. It smelled good, too. She stretched, stood, and then began a search for the kitchen. Her worries could wait until after she was full. She found the kitchen easily enough. The room was spacious with light wood cabinets, white granite counters, though the newer stainless steel appliances looked a little out of place. There was a large window above the sink decorated with flower patterned curtains that provided a lot of natural light. The stove and refrigerator were against the wall by the door, and across the room was a door to the outside. The floor was dark stained hardwood, and England decided it was better than the crappy linoleum in her kitchen that she still hadn't replaced. In the center of the room was an island with six wooden stools.

Russia was serving two plates of whatever he had cooked. He turned towards her when he heard her enter. "Ready for dinner?" he asked.

"Yes, definitely," she answered, stepping into the kitchen, "What did you make?"

"Something simple," he answered before elaborating, "Lamb, green beans, and mashed potatoes."

"Sounds good," she said, taking a plate when he handed it to her, "Smells good, too. Where are we eating?"

"We could eat here or in the dining room," he said, holding his own plate one handedly as he gestured vaguely in the direction of the dining room.

"Let's eat here," England decided. She skirted around the island, and set her plate down in one of the middle seats. Then she realized how high the stools and counters were. The stools were closer to her waist than hips in height, and she knew she would have a difficult time trying to cook with how high the counters were.

She hoisted herself up into her stool as Russia placed his plate beside hers. She nearly over balanced and toppled to the floor. She quickly settled herself, though, and let out a sigh of relief. "Your stools are very high," she commented as Russia much more easily took his seat.

"It's to match the counters," he explained, "I'm too tall for the standard height."

"That is very true," England said, as she shifted her weight to the center of the stool.

When Russia only nodded, England turned to her meal. She begrudgingly admitted to herself that it looked better than anything she or her siblings could cook. She cut off a small bit of the lamb, and took a bite. She chewed and swallowed the morsel. She then turned to her husband. "It's good," she told him.

"Good," was all he said with a smile before returning to his plate.

England didn't know what Russia did after dinner, but she spent her time wandering the halls in his house. It was rather large, as well as old, but she had been in it few times before and hadn't seen much of it then. The entire place struck her as rather masculine. She decided it was the lack of decorations. The rooms weren't sparse, and there was just the right amount of furniture, but they were all plain. The walls were all nude colors, and there was hardly ever anything on the walls. She did like the layout of the house, though.

She ended her personal tour of her new home in the master bedroom where she had spent the night before. Russia was there. He had been reading, and had glanced up when she entered. He was sitting cross legged, hunched over with the book in his lap. England always read curled up by a window. "Is there something you need?" Russia asked.

"No, I was just," she waved her hands vaguely, "looking about."

He nodded, "Alright, just let me know if there's anything you need."

She nodded, and backed quietly out of the room. She did her best to avoid the master bedroom until she decided that it was late enough that Russia had gone to sleep. She opened the door to find that the lights were off and that Russia was beneath the covers facing away from the door. She snuck her pajamas out of the bedroom and changed in the hall bath, uncomfortable with changing in the same room as a man sleeping or otherwise. She tip toed back into the room, and placed her dirty clothes into the closet. Then she slowly and cautiously climbed into bed beside her new husband.

"You finally decided to come to bed?"

England nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Russia's voice. He sounded half asleep, but she answered regardless. "Yeah, I did," she said, trying to calm herself, and pulling the sheets up to her chin.

"Goodnight," he told her softly.

"Night," she forced herself to return.

She slept with her back to him the whole night.

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><p>I know this isn't canonically true, but I've got Russia mentally at 6'2'' (which justifies the counters) and fem!England at 5'4''. So there's definitely a bit of a height difference between them.<p>

Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

England yawned and stretched as she finished the last of her paperwork, if it could be called that. Personifications weren't directly allowed into the political process, but politicians often emailed or called them up for their opinions. Their opinions weren't always taken with the greatest consideration, but it was best for the nations if their politicians at least knew what they wanted. Nations were usually given free rein in the bureaucracy, however, and that tended to be more like actual paperwork. It was nutty, but she was finished.

She decided that it was a good time for tea. She stood from her, well technically Russia's, mahogany desk. She exited the study Russia had given to her to use as an office. The hall was silent except for her footsteps. She and Russia were half intentionally avoiding each other, and his large house made it easy. They were cautious around each other and uncertain about how to overcome the awkawardness. A few doorways and she made it to the kitchen. She saw Russia holding a phone to his ear, standing beside one of the center island's tall chairs. Papers were spread before him on the clean wooden counter. She could hear his voice, but not what he was saying to the person on the other end. She backtracked a few steps hoping not to distract him from what was mostly likely an important phone call.

She gave him one last glance, peeping around the doorframe, and told herself she would leave after that. This time she noticed something aside from the phone and paper. He wasn't wearing his coat, and it was slung over the seat of the chair next to him. Despite that they were now sleeping in the same bed, aside from their wedding day and the day after, England hadn't ever seen him without his coat. He slipped into bed after her, and woke before her. She only knew that he slept at all in the same bed as her because she had woken several times to find her legs brushing his, his hand tangled in her hair, and once he had rolled onto her hair. She now braided her hair before bed to avoid that.

She was slightly surprised to see that he wore a white button down beneath his coat. It was loose on him, and she supposed he had to buy large just so he would fit into the fabric. The makers probably assumed that only fat could cause a person to wear a shirt of that size. His brown pants fit much better with a midrise waist. He didn't wear a belt though there were loops. There was only a slight difference in color between his pants and his tall boots.

He switched the hands carrying his phone, and picked up a sheet of paper. He took a step away from the island, and his hunch grew more pronounced as he read the sheet in his hand. He then turned from the table and straightened, presenting England with an unblocked view of his backside. She would be lying if she said she didn't like what she was seeing. She preferred boys to be taller than herself, which was nearly all of them, and Russia certainly was. His shoulders were broad, much broader than all the slim English boys back home. England was certain that he was even broader than Scotland. Of course, she knew how broad shoulders were a double edged sword.

She was slightly disappointed that his loose shirt kept her from seeing his back. His legs did look good, though. He moved again, setting the page down on the counter. He pulled the phone away from his ear, and clicked it off. He set it on the table on top of the paper. England decided to act before he noticed her on his own. She knocked on the door frame, acting like she just made it to the kitchen, "I was going to make myself tea, would you like some?"

He looked over at her, not startled by her falsely sudden appearance. "I would, thank you," he answered.

"It's no trouble," she said, crossing the kitchen for the cabinets. She pulled down his stainless steel tea kettle. It was the only kitchen appliance she could remember the place of. She filled it with water, and placed it on the stove. She turned the burner on then joined Russia at the island, making sure not to sit in the chair his coat was occupying. She placed one leg over the other, rested her elbow on the counter, and placed her chin on her knuckles. "You know, I don't believe I have ever seen you without your coat before."

"I forget to take it off," he spoke slowly, his accent giving a lilt to his English words, "I have heard that you once wore a coat like that."

England could feel her ears turning red at the mention of the article of clothing he was referring to. The crimson coat she had worn as a pirate. "Your ear is red," he commented.

She felt her ear, and realized that she had tucked her hair behind her ear in order to properly complete her paperwork. Her embarrassment quickly made itself noticeable on her cheeks. He reached out and took her wrist, and slowly pulled her hand away from her ear, "I'm only teasing."

"Oh, well, you certainly have an odd way of teasing," she said pulling her arm from his grasp.

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. He gave her a side glance, his unstable smile returning to his face. England hoped she wasn't showing a nervous tick herself. "Why have you started braiding your hair?" he asked.

She decided the best course was just to tell him outright. "You rolled onto my hair the other night," she deadpanned.

He, for a brief second, appeared to cringe at her words. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he apologized.

"It's fine. We are unused to sleeping together. We'll have it sorted eventually," she said, brushing off his concerns.

He kept his smile on his face, and they sat silently together, waiting for the water to boil. England tapped her nails on the counter to create some sort of noise to prevent total silence, and Russia neither said nor did anything to stop her. The tea kettle whistled, and England stood, refraining mightily from sighing in relief. She turned the burner off, and moved the kettle away from the heat. She pulled down two mugs, "What kind of tea would you like?" she asked.

"I think I only have Earl Grey," he answered.

England gave him a look over her shoulder from her place next to the stove. She kept several kinds of tea at her house, but had neglected to bring them to Russia's. She had forgotten that he did indeed only own Earl Grey. She had been drinking it daily since she had arrived. They would be out soon. She nodded, and opened the cabinet containing the tea bags. She preferred leaves, but they were becoming harder and harder to find. She pulled out the remaining two bags. She moved back to the two mugs, ripped open the packages, and placed one bag in each mug. She poured the water into the mugs, allowing them to steep.

"I'll have to buy more tea tomorrow," she said, throwing out the box.

"Do you know where to find any?" he asked.

"No," she answered, realizing that she hadn't thought of that yet.

"I'll take you to buy tea tomorrow then," he said, decidedly.

"Alright," she nodded, and then turned back to the mugs, "How do you like your tea?"

"Without anything but tea in it," he said simply, looking at the cups rather than her.

"That, I can do."

After tea and later dinner, England began searching for any British shows, or anything in English, for over an hour on Russia's television set. England decided it was time to call it a day when she stopped listening no matter the language. She had begun going to bed unusually early after moving into Russia's house. It made her wonder when Russia actually went to bed. She had yet to notice him climbing into bed in the middle of the night. She shut off the television, and made her way up to Russia's bedroom. Even with the dresser that had been added for her clothes, it hardly seemed like she belonged in the room.

She shut the door behind her. She pulled her jewelry off piece by piece. She returned them to their respective places in her jewelry box on her dresser. She unbuttoned her blouse, and paused when she thought she heard something in the hall. She rolled her eyes when she heard nothing else. Russia's house almost made more noise than her own. She unzipped her skirt, slid it down her legs, and pulled it off and then her shoes. She tossed her skirt into her new laundry hamper, and lined her flats against the wall with her other shoes.

She pulled her tights down to her knees, and the door to the bedroom opened. She tried to take a step back, and tripped, landing on her butt. Russia turned in her direction at the sound of her fall. His eyes widened comically as he caught sight of her half-dressed on the floor. He said something rushed in Russia and exited the room. He shut the door quickly behind himself. England took a deep breath to steady herself, feeling terribly embarrassed, obviously. She pulled her tights off the rest of the way. She got to her feet, and dropped her tights into the laundry hamper on top of her skirt.

She looked down to check what pair of panties she had decided to pull on that morning. She had decided to wear her affectionately named sailor panties. They were so named for their horizontal navy blue and white stripes. They were trimmed with matching navy lace, and otherwise unadorned. At least they semi matched with her plain black bra.

She quickly finished undressing, and pulled on her pajamas; full length pajama pants and a baggy tee. She took a deep breath as she faced the door. She pulled it open, and found Russia waiting outside. He had been sitting down against the wall, less than five feet away from the door. He scrambled to his feet when he saw the door open. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't know you were inside."

"It's fine," she told him. They stood awkwardly in the hall waiting for the other to make a move. England backed into the bedroom, leaving space enough for Russia to enter. "You can change, and I'll go…brush my teeth."

England had been keeping her toiletries in the hall bathroom, unmotivated to make room for her own things in Russia's master bath. Russia stepped into the room, and she brushed past him. She marched resolutely down the hall, forcing herself not to look back. She shut the door behind her once inside the hall bath. She leaned her back against the door and waited for the embarrassment and the blush undoubtedly on her cheeks to fade. When she felt calmer she pushed off the door, and grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste. She brushed her teeth as slowly and as thoroughly as she could. She hoped it would give him enough time to finish changing. She placed her tooth brush back in its holder, and left the bathroom. She knocked on the door before entering. She heard Russia's muffled response through the door that it was alright to come in.

She pushed open the door. Russia was laying on his back on his half of the king sized bed. She closed the door, and slowly made her way over to the bed. She could see Russia was purposefully watching the ceiling as she climbed under the covers. She tucked the covers underneath her chin, and curled onto her side, her back to Russia. She turned off her side table lamp, and Russia turned off his lamp. They lay silently together, hoping sleep would come quickly. She heard Russia move, rustling the sheets.

"Your underwear is cute," he remarked quietly to her.

She moaned, and curled into a ball under the sheets. She had been hoping he hadn't caught sight of them. "Are you alright?" he asked, placing his hand on her waist.

She jumped slightly at his touch. Her shirt had ridden up less than a few inches when she had lain down, and his hand was directly on her skin. "I'm alright," she said, trying desperately to sound normal.

He brushed his thumb over her skin a few times before stilling. He didn't remove his hand. She waited so long for him to retract his hand that she fell asleep. He woke before she had once more the next morning. He didn't mention it at all throughout the day, and she decided to write it off as a one time thing. That night, however, his hand returned to her waist. She had been sleeping when Russia had joined her, and had been startled awake by the touch. Russia had muttered something sleepily to her in his language, and she had fallen back asleep immediately after, not awake enough to comprehend the situation. By the fourth night, she began to assume that he would always place his hand on her waist. On the seventh night, she welcomed his touch. The morning following, she boarded a plane back to her home and land. Her prime minister required her presence for a high stakes political decision. A referendum was coming up, and citizens were more likely to pay attention if their personifications were involved, even if they didn't know it.

She was able to spend a week on her own, in her home. Her bed was as comforting as she remembered, but she couldn't sleep. She spent every night lying awake, falling asleep well after she normally would. The only satisfaction she was able to receive was a good voter turnout, and had managed to avoid every single one of her siblings. The latter had been much more difficult to achieve. There had been a few close calls, but if she couldn't even talk to them over the phone she certainly couldn't do it in person.

She returned to Russia's house well after midnight. Her boss had wanted her to return to Russia's side as soon as possible. She had argued, but only half-heartedly. She set down her carry-on bag, the only luggage she had needed to take with her, next to her dresser. She kept the light off, even though she could barely make out her surroundings. She could see Russia asleep, facing away from the door. She silently pulled off her travel clothes, and dropped them into her laundry hamper. She grabbed her pajamas and quickly dressed. She crawled onto the bed.

"You're back," he murmured, rolling over to face her.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said, pulling back the sheets.

"It's alright," he said, sighing and running his fingers through his hair.

She pulled the covers over her legs, and she was about to lie down when Russia wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her back against his chest, and nuzzled her hair. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said, his words were slurred by sleep and his accent was worsened, "I think our bosses knew exactly what they were asking for."

She chuckled at the thought, and settled herself comfortably in his arms. She fell asleep faster in his arms than she had in her own bed. The nights following, she was either welcomed to bed with an arm around her waist, or woke in the night to find it there. It quickly became comfortable for her to sleep next to Russia, and she stopped braiding her hair. He even mentioned it to her the next day in a decidedly pleased manner.


	5. Chapter 5

She didn't know who she was expecting to see when she heard the knocking on the door. She hadn't been expecting anyone, and Russia was out with his boss for the day. She didn't bother checking to see who it was through the windows. She was confident she could handle whoever was on the other side of the door if they proved to be dangerous. She pulled the door back, and was greeted by Australia's smiling face.

"Hi!"

She tried to shut the door on him, not wanting to talk to anyone particularly close to her, now or ever. It didn't work. He leaned his shoulder against the door, using his weight against her force. He slipped through the open door, and she slammed it shut behind him. She groaned, and slowly rounded on him. She crossed her arms, preparing for whatever he would say, or to lecture him.

"You're pleasant this fine day," he remarked cheerfully despite looking slightly nervous.

"At least you knocked," she said sighing, deciding not to be too angry with the younger nation. He wasn't the one who barged in on her life whenever he felt like it. That was America and only on principle was she not attempting to sneak her way into Russia's house to England.

"I just wanted to check on you," he said, sounding sincere.

England rolled her eyes. "You're married, but I haven't checked on you," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'm not married to Russia," he retorted, sounding more like a sarcastic teen than a concerned adult. He then looked around quickly, "He's not here is he?"

"No, he's not," England admitted sourly. She might wish he was home more often if he kept out the visitors she didn't want.

"That's a relief," Australia said lightheartedly.

"If you were so concerned about being seen, why did you bother coming?" England groused.

"I wanted to see that you were okay," he replied then smiled brightly, "Not to receive bodily harm."

"Well as you can see, I'm fine,"

"What about mentally?"

She glared at him. "I've seen worse than Russia in the time I've been alive. Living with Russia will not drive me insane," she enunciated her words as clearly as she could, hoping it would help drive them home.

"Are you enjoying it though?" he asked, looking as if he had found the loop hole. Not that it existed.

"It's not bad for marriage," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Australia,"

Said nation froze up immediately. The speaker was Russia, rounding the corner into the living room. England surmised that he must have come in through the back door. He was smiling, looking much more insane than he had been that morning. He stepped around the stock still nation to wrap his arm around England's shoulders. "How nice of you to drop in," he said in a way that sounded like he meant dismemberment towards the former colony.

"Yes," Australia said, shaking himself out of his shock, "I just wanted to have a little chat with England."

"And did you?" he asked.

Australia nodded silently, looking too scared to speak. "Then I believe it is time for you to go," Russia said forcefully.

Australia only nodded again before leaving the way he came out of the front door. He gave England a worried parting glance as he rushed away. Russia dropped his disturbing smile. England sighed in relief that her annoyance was gone. She was genuinely fond of all of her former colonies, but she didn't like it when they came poking into her business as if she was the child that needed taking care of.

"I do not mind you inviting company over, but please," Russia said, looking down at her, "warn me next time."

She nodded. "I'll try," England answered, not bothering to tell him that Australia had invited himself.

Russia nodded in return before pressing a light kiss against her temple. He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before turning and walking off towards what he had returned for. England didn't react, already distracted by other thoughts.

Her feelings were confirmed when she began receiving calls and texts from most of the commonwealth, other former colonies, and allies, not just her siblings. They seemed to have pent up all their concerns during the 'honeymoon' period, and were now releasing them. She had answered the first few calls, but once realizing they were all asking the same questions she stopped answering. She couldn't understand why now of all times they decided it was alright to check up on her, not that she wasn't grateful and appreciative of their concern. She assured them again and again that Russia had done nothing to her, but they didn't listen. None of them were close to Russia, and so rumors spread amongst them that were hard to displace. Canada was the only one she had been able to convince, and England was certain she was the one keeping her husband from dropping by again.

Her sister, however, was the farthest from being convinced. Her rough competition with the nation had spoiled her view of him, perhaps permanently. More than that, England felt that America would rather have England be just her former sister than her former enemy's wife. While England knew that about her former colony and close ally, she wished that America would see her as a friend, nothing more nothing less.

"Are they still calling?" Russia asked over dinner.

"Yes," England answered. They really didn't talk much. They spoke to each other, but they didn't say anything. They didn't discuss their politics, how they were changing, the news, their friends, or even themselves. Most of all they avoided discussing their relationship. If either liked a single display of affection, the other would never know it. For Russia to bring up a topic intertwined with their marriage was unusual. England was surprised and uncomfortable, but she hadn't expected him not to notice. One conversation about something proper and important to them could do no harm.

"They do not like me," he said. It wasn't a question, merely a statement. For all the insanity that seemed heaped around the nation, he was observant and realistic.

England shook her head, but didn't know what to say.

"They don't like this marriage, and they don't like that I married you," he continued. His voice was devoid of emotion, and he stared thoughtfully at the table. His smile was absent as he said, "I should have asked for their permission."

"No, you shouldn't have," England said, more forcefully than she intended, "they weren't the ones getting married. They didn't come to me for permission, so you shouldn't have had to go to them."

After a moment's pause, she added quietly, "It was my choice, too."

She felt like she was blushing and looked down to her plate. She was nearly finished, but still took another bite. She felt awkward and wanted to leave, but didn't.

"Did you make the right one?" he asked.

She swallowed, and looked back at him pondering her answer. He waited patiently for her to speak. Then she nodded, "I think so."

"I do, too,"

The suddenly pleasant atmosphere was then shattered by the shrill ringing of England's phone. She sighed and treated her husband to an apologetic glance. She recognized the ringtone as Scotland's and she had to talk to him at some point. She stood from her place at the counter, and pulled out her phone. She pushed the little green phone icon, and put her phone against her ear.

"Finally," her brother said in greeting, already sounding irritated and just the slightest bit relieved.

"Hello Scotland," she returned voice as neutral as she could make it.

"May I speak with him?" Russia suddenly asked.

England didn't listen to a word of her brother's rambling as she stared blankly at Russia. He shifted under her gaze and took a moment to explain, "I've never met your brother and had a proper conversation with him. You don't want to talk to him, so I can."

He held out his hand for her phone. Her brother had stopped speaking. She bit her lip and cautiously handed her phone over to her husband. "Thank you," he said with a smile.

He brought the phone to his ear, and said, "Hello."

She could hear her brother's voice coming from the speaker. She wondered if he was always that loud on the phone, or if he was yelling at Russia. She watched Russia's features, but he hardly made a face of any sort as he listened to her brother's words. He then said suddenly, "Yes, I understand."

She raised a brow at the statement, but he explained nothing. She waited with her best attempt at patience as he continued to listen to her brother. He nodded at intermittent intervals, but otherwise did nothing. "Alright," he agreed, and pulled the phone away from his ear, "He wants to talk to you."

She nodded and took the phone back. "Scotland?" she asked into the phone.

"Yeah," he said then took a breath, "So I gave him the low down, and the usual threats and everything, but I've got words for you, too, Missy. I don't care how much you believe he won't do anything to you, and I'm not saying that he will, but if he does do anything harmful, at all whatsoever, to you, you are coming straight to my house. Not yours, mine, got it? Whether you can handle it or not, you come to my house and I will do the torture and murder thing. Do we have an agreement?"

England rolled her eyes at her brothers diatribe, but nodded and replied, "Yes, we have an agreement."

"Good," he said, "I'll spread the word that I've got it covered. I'll get everyone off your back for a little bit so you kiddies can have some alone time."

"Scotland!" she hissed even as she felt her cheeks heat.

"No guarantees on America though," he then amended, "I might just have her join my 'kill Russia if he does anything' crew."

"That's fine," she snapped, "Goodbye."

She tapped the red phone icon before he got the chance to reply. She turned to Russia who was smiling, not creepily but secretively. "What did he say to you?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Nothing much," he answered nonchalantly, "just a little advice."

"Advice about what?" she asked disbelievingly. Scotland was not the type to hand out advice to anyone, let alone outsiders.

"You," he answered, pointing directly at her nose.

"Me?" she asked, incredulous, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head and lowering his arm, "Our problem is solved, yes?"

"I suppose so," she replied grouchily, but allowed the subject to be changed.

Their problem was indeed solved by her brother. The calls concerning her welfare in their relationship stopped entirely. Even America had stopped calling. The first day America did not call, England was so pleased and excited that she had wrapped her arms around Russia in a quick hug barely even realizing it herself. She had skirted off immediately after to thank her brother before she considered the consequences. Russia laughed, entirely amused.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hello," England greeted automatically after picking up the phone, not even thinking that the person on the line might only speak Russian.

"Hey, England!" the voice on the line returned, and England recognized the voice as Prussia's. He was quite the lone wolf of the nations nowadays and no one ever seemed to know what exactly he was up to at any particular moment. England couldn't quite recall the last time she had even spoken to him, but he sounded quite well.

"Prussia," she said, effectively hiding any surprise, "How have you been?"

"I've been awesome, the usual," he said brazenly, "Sorry I missed your wedding though."

"A rather belated apology, but nonetheless accepted," she replied, smiling slightly, "If you don't mind me asking, why did you miss it?"

"I was working and couldn't make it in time," he replied, "I'm still not really a nation or anything and don't do your guys' type of work, but I'm getting more and more into non-profit organizations. I kind of really like it."

"Non-profit?" she asked, "I wouldn't expect it from you."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm not doing fundraising or any of that shit. I'm doing organizational work, and man do these people need it. You would not believe the mess these humans make," Prussia said, sounding dramatically serious and England could see his face perfectly in her mind's eye.

"I can imagine," she commented lightly, "Perhaps you should start doing organizational work for the younger countries and their governments."

"Like a counselor or something like that?" he asked, laughing afterwards, "Nah, they'd never let me. It's something their people have to work out for themselves."

England sighed, "I know. They'll accept any other type of help, but the government is always off limits. It's alright to take wisdom from someone older, especially if it involves bureaucrats."

"Tell me about it," Prussia said before continuing more seriously, "Young ones never get that, though. We are a bit overbearing sometimes, and exceedingly so in their eyes."

"That's most certainly true," England mused, turning to look out of the nearest window. It was bright outside, with only a few clouds in the sky. The sight was calming.

"Hey, England," Prussia repeated, and England knew that he was going to ask something.

"Yes, Prussia?" she asked.

"How are you and the big guy doing?" Prussia asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

England sighed. She was certainly annoyed by another repetition of the question, but Prussia had never asked before. "We're fine actually," she answered breezily.

"How fine is fine?" he asked, and a teasing quality came into his voice, "No fights? No teasing? Any wine at dinner? Or are you describing the love making quality?"

"Prussia!" she did her best to sound offended, but she was definitely much too used to his sort of humor.

"What? I was only asking an innocent question," Prussia defended himself.

"Prussia, there is nothing innocent about you," she smirked as she replied.

"Alright, maybe there isn't, but I try," he responded cheekily, "So no sex then?"

She rolled her eyes, "No, there's no sex."

"Is that, no, it couldn't be," Prussia joked, "that's not disappointment I hear, is it?"

"Of course not," England scoffed.

"Speaking of love making, France is not real happy about your marriage," he informed her.

"What does that matter?" she asked, not wanting to talk about France.

"He would have married you, you know? If you'd've let him," Prussia said in a sober tone.

"No, he's not the type to be married," she replied, rubbing her forehead with her free hand, "It wouldn't have worked anyways."

"Alright, alright, forget I mentioned it," Prussia heaved a sigh before changing the topic, "So you've done nothing with the big guy?"

"No, not nothing," England retorted.

"Oh yeah, like what? Kissing?" he asked.

"No,"

"Hugging?"

"No,"

"Footsie?"

"That sounds dangerous,"

"Maybe just a little bit," Prussia conceded, "then what exactly have you done?"

"Well, we eat dinner together most every night. We can keep a conversation going, which is good. We've gotten used to sleeping in the same bed," England listed, not sounding at all sure of herself if any of this counted.

"I'm only really impressed by the second one. The big guy is not really one for talking," he said.

"I can tell. Half the time he speaks Russian, and I don't think he realizes it," she mused.

"Well you don't sound too horribly upset by it," he said chuckling.

"Are you insinuating something, Prussia?" England asked suspiciously.

"Not at all. All I know is; English chicks dig it when I speak German," Prussia said with an imagined shrug of the shoulders courtesy of England.

"Hn," England was not impressed.

"All I'm saying is that humans like the sound of foreign languages. They're mysterious and attractive. It's going to be the same for us nations. Simple logic," he explained.

"Then does that mean you like my accent?" she allowed herself to tease him just the slightest bit.

"Sweetheart, I would be lying if I said you weren't attractive, but you are a married woman now," he reminded her, though his tone weakened the warning of the statement, "We can't be having these sorts of conversations."

"Oh, being married is no fun," she mockingly complained.

"That's because you and the big guy haven't started in on the fun," he returned easily.

"We've got a long way to go before that," England reminded him.

"So skip a few steps, what could go wrong?" Prussia asked.

"It's not that something could go wrong, but that I'm not ready to skip those steps," she admitted softly.

"I didn't mean it like that," he chuckled lightly, "I always knew you would be the type to take it real slow, but make it incredibly sweet."

"Sweet? Hardly, it's awkward and stilted and stressful honestly," she stopped herself before she could rant further, "It's not what I wanted or expected out of marriage."

"Relax England," Prussia soothed, "It's only been like a month or so. It's a pretty sudden change for both of you. It'll get better, but it'll take time and effort."

"Are you a marriage counselor now?" England asked, "When was the last time you had a successful relationship?"

"Hey, I gave Germany advice and he's doing really well," he replied.

"That's no difficulty. They were already head over heels for each other. They have been for years," she argued.

"And you could be one day, too, and so could Russia. You have to like him somewhat in order to have agreed to marry him," he pointed out.

She sighed, "I just couldn't find a reason to say no to him."

"Well then let's think about it then," Prussia said, his voice suddenly gaining a mischievous edge, "What do you like best about the big guy? One physical and one personality trait."

"Why should I tell you?" she asked.

"Because it'll be good to get it out of your system. I swear not to tell anyone. I'm honestly curious," he said, sounding sincere.

"Alright," she agreed less because he convinced her and more because she wanted to share her secrets. She needed someone to whisper to, and Prussia was more than just good enough. She checked her surroundings even though she knew Russia was not within hearing distance. "I really do love his voice. It's so wonderfully deep, and sometimes it sends shivers down my spine. I think I like it most when he's half asleep though, and it doesn't matter if he's speaking English or not. Personality wise, I like that he's observant. He catches a lot of things you wouldn't expect him to, and sometimes he is really rather insightful."

She could hear Prussia chuckling on the other end. "What's so funny?" she asked, sounding more offended than she meant to.

"I knew you would like his voice. Your reasons make such absolute sense. You would like that he's observant. It's so you," Prussia explained.

"Are you telling me I'm predictable?"

"Not at all, the half-asleep thing was unexpected," he mused.

"Oh well," England glanced over at the clock, "I've got to go. I still have some more work to finish."

"Alright, I'll talk to you later then. Maybe I'll come and visit you sometime," Prussia said.

"Okay then, good bye," England said.

"Be careful, make sure Russia doesn't seduce you tonight,"

"Goodbye Prussia,"

"Alright, alright, bye!"

They both hung up. England chuckled to herself as she put down the phone and walked away.


	7. Chapter 7

"You are going to need to learn Russian,"

"What?" England looked up from her book at her husband.

He was standing in the doorway of the supposed family room leaning on the frame, suggesting that he had been there for more than a moment. She was sitting primly and properly on the couch, and had been reading one of the novels she had brought with her. He had interrupted her reading mid-sentence.

"You need to learn Russian," he repeated, taking a seat next to her.

"Why would I need to do that?" she asked, closing her book and using her index finger as a place holder.

"You are married to a Russian, and you will be living in Russia for half of each year for the rest of your life," he pointed out, "That is reason enough."

"But you know English," she stated.

"I do," he conceded, his off kilter smile returned to his face, "but not everyone knows English."

"I don't see why that should matter to me," she said. Her language was popular, and useable, throughout the world. In this century it was little trouble to find someone who spoke English semi-decently if not entirely fluently. She hadn't ever before bothered to learn a new language, and didn't see why she should bother now.

"Everyone else has learned a second language, even America, why can't you?" he asked.

"America didn't learn a second language. She has a large enough minority that she can speak it automatically. She used to speak to me in German in the late eighteenth century. It's not any different with Spanish," England pointed out, "I do happen to speak more than English. I am fluent in Irish Gaelic, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, and Cornish."

"I've never heard you speak in another language," Russia commented.

She shrugged, "I don't enjoy speaking my siblings' languages. I only want to speak my language."

"Then can't you understand why I want you to speak mine?" he asked, "You're my wife. I want you to at least know my language."

He took her hand gently in his, and his thumb repeated the motion it usually did when his hand wrapped around her waist. It brushed across the skin on the back of her hand. "Russians are not your people, but they are mine. I will not force you, but I would like you to treat them like your own. I wish for you to be able to speak to them in their native tongue. If you do this for my people, I will do the same for yours," he told her.

She raised a brow at him. He clearly knew that the best way to reason with her was to bargain. She answered, "You already speak English, though."

"I have a head start," he shrugged and smiled.

She considered his proposal. "I'll think about it," she told him, unwilling to make the decision immediately.

He said something that must have been the equivalent of 'good' in Russian. The craziness in his smile disappeared, and he left her to her novel. A week would pass before she would make her decision.

England left Russia's house, bored of the indoors. She hadn't been able to explore much, and it seemed like the perfect time. She wandered around, memorizing the route she took as well as the street signs. She passed many houses, each different from the last, until she reached a more commercial area. She found a bench, and took a moment to rest her feet.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up to see a man looking down at her. He nearly matched Russia in height, was slimmer than the nation she had married, and his hair was dark. He spoke to her, but it was not in English. "Oh, I'm sorry," she told him, smiling sheepishly, "I don't speak Russian."

He looked confused for a moment. "American?" he asked, an accent thickly coating his words.

"No," she shook her head, "English."

"Oh," he said, "sorry."

"It's no problem," she stood, and faced him, "Is there something you needed?"

When she faced him she realized that he was not the man she thought he was, looking about the age of seventeen. His face was boyish, but it suited his demeanor. He bit his lip then spoke again, "I don't speak English well."

"Oh," she said, not sure how to respond to the teen.

"Will…will," he began, clearly struggling to find words, he said something in Russian, and mimicked walking with his fingers, "walk?"

"Yes," she said, motioning for him to continue.

"With…me?" he asked, pointing to himself then down the road.

She had nothing better to do. "Yes, I'll walk with you," she smiled and nodded.

He said something in cheerfully in Russian, and began walking down the street. She matched his pace, and walked with a teen she could barely talk to. He did his best to converse with her. It was like playing charades and Mad Libs at the same time. He never ran out of topics to cover, and he never stopped trying. He slipped into Russian frequently all the while grinning and talking as if she could still understand him.

He had her laughing the entire time they walked. She could mostly understand him with his wild hand gestures, and she tried her best to let him understand her. She never thought to ask his name.

He tapped her shoulder. "Yes?" she asked.

He pointed up at the store front behind her, "Coffee?"

She turned around to see that there was a tea shop behind her. She turned back and shook her head, "It's not coffee."

"You don't want to go?" he asked, revealing his confusion on his face.

"I do," she said, taking a step towards the door, "but it's tea, not coffee."

"Tea?" he asked.

"Yes, it's my favorite," she told him, leading him inside.

"Favorite?" he parroted when they entered the line.

"Yes, I like it a lot," she explained.

"You like tea," he said, "I like it some,"

She chuckled, "You mean you don't like it much."

"Yes," he said quickly, and then changed his answer, "No, not favorite, but I still like it."

She nodded, "I understand."

He smiled in response. She looked up at the board above the counter. She had forgotten that she couldn't read Russian either. "Is it wrong?" her companion asked.

"It?" she asked, confused by his wording, "Is the tea wrong?"

"No," he shook his head, "Are you wrong?"

"Am I wrong?" she tilted her head, now absolutely lost, "No-"

He interrupted her, correcting himself, "No, no, I mean, you find a thing wrong, you're finding a thing wrong…"

He trailed off, looking at little hopeless in his vocabulary. "Oh," she exclaimed suddenly realizing what he was asking, "Yes, something is wrong."

"Something," he muttered, "That is the word. What something is wrong?"

"I can't read Russian," she confessed, pointing to the posted menu, "I can't order."

"I will order," he said, "I will…surprise you."

"Ooh," she cooed before giggling, "Make it something good."

"Okay," he said as he stepped up to the cashier. He spoke easily and simply to the cashier, ordering two drinks. He guided England to the other end of the counter to wait for their order.

"Can I ask something?" he faced her, and leaned his elbow on the counter.

"Certainly," she nodded.

"Why are you here?" he asked then added, "in Russia."

"Oh, well," she began, but stopped. She didn't know how much to say and how much he would understand. "I moved here," she answered.

"You live here, now?" he asked, pointing towards the floor.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Without…" he was missing the word, "Russian, the language."

"Yes, without knowing Russian," she answered.

They were interrupted by the arrival of their tea. She recognized the scent of jasmine tea. He handed her one of the cups of tea. She held the drink close to her face, and breathed in the scent. It smelled fantastic, and a smile automatically graced her lips. Her companion grinned at the sight of her happiness.

He led her over to an empty table, and they each took a seat. He placed a packet of sugar into his tea, but England took a sip of hers as it was. She decided it was more than suitable. "You like it?" he asked.

"Yes, it's quite good," she answered.

He took a sip from his own cup, and nodded in agreement. They sat silently and comfortably together, drinking from their respective cups. They kept flashing each other grins and amusing faces, eliciting chuckles from the other. When they finished their drinks, they placed their cups in a tray filled with used plates, silver ware, and cups. The two then returned to the street.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked. His English had become smoother throughout their conversation. England had even picked up some Russian from him.

She glanced up and down the street. She was surprised by who she saw. "Oh my," she whispered, wondering if this counted as being in trouble.

"What is wrong?" he asked her, genuinely sounding concerned.

He followed her line of sight. She was watching a tall, imposing, fair haired man approach them. He had a smile on his face, but did not look at all pleased. "You know him?" the boy asked.

"Yes," she answered.

Russia stopped before them, giving them both a once over. He spoke in Russian, looking directly at the boy. The boy was shocked by his words, and glanced quickly at England before turning back to Russia. He stammered out a response. Russia nodded, finding his explanation suitable. He replied to the boy, and he nodded and answered. The boy turned to England, placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "Goodbye, I will see you again."

She gave him a smile in return, "Alright, goodbye."

Once the boy was out of earshot, she rounded on her husband. "What was that all about?" she asked, incredulously, "Was it necessary that you scare him off?"

"I did not scare him off," Russia defended himself, "I told him he could stay, but he said it would be rude."

She gave him an unbelieving look. She couldn't find anything to say to him, and began walking in the direction of Russia's house. He easily matched her place. "Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed, pausing in her walking, "I forgot to ask his name."

"You spent over two hours talking to him, and you didn't ask his name?" Russia asked.

"I didn't think to," she muttered, disbelieving her own actions. She glanced behind, already knowing he would be gone.

"At least you enjoyed it," he commented as they began walking again.

She nodded, "I did. He was quite amusing. I hope I'll see him again."

He shrugged, "Perhaps you will."

"I hope," she started, knowing the full weight of what she was about to say, "that by then, I will be able to speak to him in Russian."

Her husband stopped walking. England continued walking, purposefully acting as if she hadn't said anything. He prevented her from walking by holding his arm in front of her, and turning her to face him. "Are you telling me you wish to learn Russian?" he asked, giving her an honest and appraising look.

She nodded. His face split into a pleased grin, and he swept her into a great hug, lifting her off of her feet. She yelped in surprise, and automatically wrapped her arms around his neck for security. He hugged her tight, but not enough to hurt her. He set her gently back down on her feet, but didn't release her. He placed his forehead against hers, and spoke in Russian. He pulled away with his grin still on his face. She could tell that she had put him in a good mood for the rest of the day, and the next day, she was presented with several textbooks.

"What's this?" she asked, putting away the papers she had been working on.

"New English-Russian textbooks," he proclaimed, "These should help build a learning structure we can work with."

"Alright," she said, pulling the top book off the pile and opening it to the beginning pages, "are you wanting to start now?"

"If you are free and ready," he answered.

"Now, it is," England decided.

Russia pulled up a chair next to her desk. He pulled a different book from the stack. He passed it to her, explaining, "This is a beginner's textbook. It starts with the alphabet."

She nodded, flipping the book open to the first section. She sighed at the sight of the entire Russian alphabet. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"This looks like a bunch of gobbled-y-gook," she muttered.

"Only because you are not used to it," he said calmly.

"Where to begin…" she trailed off, staring hopelessly at the page.

"Pronunciation," he stated, he searched her desk for a few seconds then found a pen and blank paper and handed them to her, "here you can copy down the alphabet as what you hear for pronunciation."

"What I hear?" England asked, skeptically.

"Yes, I'm going to go down the alphabet, and you'll write down how you would pronounce it. It's what I did for English, the textbooks make no sense. They have weird symbols all over the place for intonation and whatever else. It's easier if you just write your own pronunciation key."

England quickly copied each letter, thankful the book illustrated how to write each letter. After she finished writing, Russia began reading aloud down the list. It was simple and confusing all at the same time.

"Now, repeat them," he said.

"Ok," she said, feeling like reciting an alphabet should not be a daunting task. She went letter by letter, and could not pronounce a single one correctly. She stumbled through each pronunciation, and Russia did his best to help her with pitiful explanations of how to make the correct sound. When they reached the end of the list, all they could do was give each other awkward hopeless smiles. "This is going to take a long time," Russia stated.

England nodded in agreement, but refused to give up once she started. It quickly became a regular routine to practice the language after dinner every day. They began simply with basic sentence structure, basic nouns, adjectives, prepositions, pronouns, and present tense verb conjugations, and greetings. England was fortunately a quick learner, and had a surprising knack for languages. Her pronunciations were dubious at best, but otherwise accumulated a basic knowledge of Russian fairly quickly. She moved on to past tense with past perfect conjugation, and questions. She also learned to answer them, and Russia began slipping Russian into their conversations as a way of testing her. Her responses were slow and barely understandable, but they made sense and were grammatically correct. She was quite proud of her accomplishment, but wasn't sure if Russia was impressed or not. It was hard to tell, quite honestly.

She watched television to help with pronunciation. She listened to how the actors spoke and did her best to understand them for content. She often found herself sitting on the floor in front of the screen, as if being nearer would help her learning. She learned the future verb tenses, and imperative conjugations, adverbs, the conditional, and translated words as she came across them. Despite all of this, it didn't seem to get her very far in face to face conversations. Her understanding was much better than her ability to speak. Russia would start a conversation in his language, and she would finish it in hers.

England was considering getting a proper professional tutor, until one morning. Russia woke her at the usual time, shaking her gently, and greeted her with, "_Good morning_," in Russian.

"_Morning_," she answered, eyes still closed and snuggling further into the blankets.

"_Are you feeling alright_?" he asked, not certain if she was actually responding in Russian, or just repeating what he was saying.

"_I'm fine, just a little sleepy_," she replied, curling into a ball.

He leaned down towards her, and whispered into her ear, "_Are you aware that you are speaking Russian_?"

"_I am not_," she denied, glaring up at him and crossing her arms.

He chuckled at her early morning insistence. She ran over what she just said in her head. "_Oh_," she gasped, covering her blush with her hands causing Russia only to laugh more.

"_You're getting there_,"


	8. Chapter 8

Bonus update! So I'm ahead of where I thought I would be with chapters, so this is an extra update for October.

I would also like to mention that this story is based mostly off history and not Hetalia canon. If you say something doesn't comply with canon I won't change it because I'm following history instead.

Please enjoy the story!

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><p>"England?"<p>

"Yes?" she answered, looking up from her paperwork. She was only a few minutes away from finishing, and her eyes felt like they were burning from staring at the white of the page. It was a relief to look away.

"We've been invited to a summer ball. It's out in the countryside, we could spend a week there for vacation as well," he told her, watching her face carefully.

"That would be lovely," she replied, and smiled for good measure. She glanced back down at her paperwork, "are you going to make dinner?"

"Yes, I will," he answered, moving to leave.

"Are you sure?" she asked, sounding concerned, "You've made dinner every night since I've moved in."

"Yes, I would like to keep it that way," he replied, giving her a bemused look.

England blushed even though she wasn't sure if he was insulting her cooking. She returned to her paperwork, and after a moment was rewarded with the sound of his leaving footsteps. She sighed, and forced herself to finish. She pushed herself away from the desk, stood, and headed for the kitchen. She found Russia cooking. She pulled herself up into one of the tall chairs at the counter.

Whenever England finished her paperwork early, she came to the kitchen to watch Russia cook. She never spoke to him as he prepared dinner, and they both allowed the sounds and scents of a hearty meal being prepared fill the space. England had watched a number of people cook before marrying, her siblings, France, and Italy included, but she enjoyed watching Russia cook the most. He was calmer, less flashy with his movements. He only used well controlled, purposeful movements, and for some reason she found it appealing. These sorts of whimsical notions were the only things she allowed herself not to question and worry herself over. She simply let them be what they were.

He served their meal, and sat down next to her. "I'm going to need a dress," she said suddenly without prompting. She'd developed a tendency to say whatever came to mind that had some sort of importance quickly.

"For what?" he asked, "the ball?"

"Yes," she said, nodding, "or else I'll have to go back home to get one of the ones I already have. I didn't think of bringing any of them here."

"I think you should get one here," he said.

"Alright," she agreed.

They sat together silently trying to think of something else to say to one another. "Where will we stay in the countryside?" England asked, watching her fork as it pushed the food on her plate around.

"One of the politicians has offered to let me use his small summer home. He can't attend the gala." Russia answered.

"When would we leave?" she asked before beginning to eat.

"I was thinking Wednesday, next week. We could spend a few days before and after the gala there," he shrugged.

"That's fine,"

They were silent for several moments as they ate. It wasn't as uncomfortable a silence as they used to have; they simply had nothing to say. England had noticed that the silence was what was left after they had ceased having the need to fill it with meaningless words in the first month of their marriage. She, however, had no idea what that meant in terms of their relationship. She refused to ask anyone as well. The silence remained, and neither broke it until they bid each other goodnight.

England couldn't sleep, though. Her head was whirling with images of the upcoming ball despite the having a number of days until then. "Russia?" she asked quietly, wanting more information now that she had the time and mindset to be thinking of what questions she should be asking.

"Hm?" he responded, sounding more awake than asleep, assuring England that she had not woken him up.

"How formal will the ball be?" she whispered, not feeling the need to speak any louder, though they were both awake.

"You want to know now?" he asked in return, also whispering.

"Yes," she answered.

"What?" he asked, not having heard her response. Even with his hand on her waist they still slept near an arm's length apart. The closest they had ever slept was the night of England's return from London. Russia had never repeated the motions that had drawn her near, and England was much too wary to bring herself closer to him.

"Yes, I want to know now," she repeated a little louder, and a bit harsher.

She heard him shift behind her, and could feel him moving nearer for easier quiet communication. He released a slow sigh, and England swore she could feel his breath against her back. Her heart thudded at the thought as she waited for his response.

"I think it's black tie," he responded slowly.

"It would be," she muttered to herself.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, shifting closer still and moving his hand from her waist to her upper arm. He propped himself up with his other arm, attempting to look at her face. She was frowning and biting on her lower lip.

"Black tie means floor length dresses. I'm too short for those types of dresses," she explained, sounding aggravated, but resigned.

"We'll find one, and if not we can get it tailored," Russia assured her, stroking his thumb against her skin. Had England been more awake she would've noticed which pronoun Russia used.

"I know," she rolled her eyes, which Russia did not see in the dark, "It's just such a bother."

Russia made a noncommittal noise then asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Who's going to be there?" England asked, an important question amongst all societies and their levels, no matter the time period.

"Mostly politicians as well as some high level bureaucrats," he answered, shrugging. It was the usual crowd.

"All Russian?"

"Yes, I think so," Russian answered, as he lowered himself, too tired to continue to prop himself up, "It'll be a good chance for you to practice your Russian."

"I suppose it shall," she said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked, sounding sleepier than the last time he had spoken.

"No," she touched his hand lightly, and shook her head, "it's fine. You can sleep."

He said nothing else, and he didn't move away. She wondered briefly if he had fallen asleep before he began tracing his fingers over the skin of her arm, sometimes following the light scars, sometimes not. It wasn't a habit he performed in his sleep so she knew that he was awake. "Russia?" she asked quietly again, feeling nervous of the question she suddenly wanted to ask.

"Yes?" he responded immediately.

"Do you," she licked her lips before beginning again, "Do you…like sleeping so close?"

He didn't answer right away. "Yes," he answered slowly, "Is that a problem?"

"I don't know," she answered, and pulled the sheet closer to her chin.

"How do you not know?" Russia asked.

"I just don't," she snapped, aggravated though she knew she had no reason to be.

After the words left her mouth, she remembered that snapping at Russia was not the best of ideas even when there was distance between them. She snuggled her face into her pillow, and stretched her legs out straight. His fingers continued to outline her scars, connecting them in random orders. "Do you like sleeping separated?" he asked.

"No," she quipped, "you always roll on top of me."

"Then why do you not like sleeping close?" he removed his hand from his arm. He shifted, rustling the sheets and pulling them downwards. She would've answered sooner, but was too surprised to speak when she felt his fingers begin to trail through her hair.

"It's uncomfortable," she argued, already seeing that perhaps she might not win this argument.

"But you haven't ever complained," he pointed out, "I think it's just unfamiliar to you," he whispered.

"And it's so familiar to you?" she returned automatically, used to using words for defense when strength or power was not the appropriate weapon. His hands ceased their movement.

"No," he admitted. His fingers began moving again, this time drawing closer to her scalp, "but I would, perhaps, like it to be."

The sentence was spoken in the gentlest tone England had ever heard him use, and she knew she was certainly blushing now. She didn't know what to say to that, and rejection felt too cruel at the moment. She blamed the lateness of the hour, the distraction of his too near presence, and the accent that had shaped the soft words. She knew she had to speak soon, and decided on the truth.

"I don't know how to respond," she murmured, still avoiding looking at him.

"Then let's try it," he said, "Let me sleep close to you, and if you don't like it I'll keep my distance."

She couldn't reasonably disagree with such a plan. "Alright," she conceded, and then snuggled her face into her pillow. She was going to make him bring himself to her if he wanted to sleep so close.

He shifted again, pulling his hands out of her hair. He gathered her hair, and placed it over her shoulder. She combed her fingers through her hair, straightening it, wondering what Russia was doing. He then wrapped his arm around her waist, lying down right behind her. His chest was touching her back, and she could feel him breathing, deep and even.

She felt like there were too many thoughts in her head. Russia was attractive, and she certainly felt an amount of giddiness and satisfaction simply for being able to touch and feel his body. That, however, was a physical response that really made her just want to revel in the fact that he wanted to be touching her, but she was also anxious that she could still mess this up, and didn't want to. Russia was right, being held so close and surprisingly tenderly was unfamiliar and was painfully reminding her of why that was so. Her body only relaxed when she finally fell asleep.

She woke facing the opposite direction. Russia was still asleep on his stomach, his face turned towards her. His arm was still draped over her waist, if a little higher than it was the night before. One of her hands was resting on his back, near his neck. She resisted the urge to fall back asleep and wait for him to wake her up, and instead rolled over to check the time on her charging phone. It was ten minutes before the time they usually woke. She sighed, and set down her phone. She thought of waking her husband up, but decided it wasn't worth it. She slipped out from under his arm, and Russia woke to an empty bed.

Russia was allowed to sleep as close to England as he wanted, but during the day, England kept well out of his reach. He had no idea how to broach the problem, or even ask why she was behaving in such a way. She left no opportunity for him to say anything about it. It was the first marital issue that they didn't discuss as they had promised, and by the night before their leaving, Russia had returned to sleeping an arm's length away with only his hand on her waist.

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><p>So, I feel this chapter is kind of weak, but it does it's job of getting to the next chapter. This chapter is the first in a short story arc, so you'll get to read more of it at the end of October. I hope you liked it, and please review!<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

I would first like all of the followers to note that the rating has increased to T, but it won't exceed that. Secondly, I'm going to actually start using Russian. If you know Russian, and am aware that I'm incorrectly using the language, please inform me. And now, on to your regularly scheduled chapter.

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><p>The house they were staying in was much smaller than Russia's house. It was pleasantly modest, and looked completely in place with the surrounding area. Russia opened the worn, wooden door to reveal a small living room area with plain cream walls and dusty wooden floors. It was quite obvious that it was an infrequently used vacation home with framed flowers as the only wall decorations and the plain, generic furniture.<p>

Russia had explained to England already that there were two bedrooms, one full bathroom, and a tiny kitchen behind the living room area. There was also a patio in the back, but it was completely unfurnished and without shade in the afternoon. They would be sleeping in the back bedroom, which was slightly larger, and had more outlets and better access to the internet. From what England could see of it so far, it looked rather cozy.

"What do you think?" Russia asked as he set down his luggage and closed the door behind them.

"I think it's nice, but in need of dusting," she answered, setting her luggage down beside his.

"That is true. I think there are cleaning supplies in the closet," Russia said, "Would you rather unpack or clean first?"

"Clean," she decided immediately.

"Agreed," he nodded, and headed for the nearest closet. He found a number of the necessary tools for cleaning. He waved England over. "What do you think?"

"How about I do the dusting and you sweep?" she asked, "There only seems to be dust, and no carpet so that should be enough."

"Then let's do that," he pulled out the broom and the duster, handing the duster over to England. They set about immediately on their tasks, discovering that the beds were unmade and that the sheets, comforters, and pillows were all in the bedroom closet. They worked their way from the back of the house to the front, and finished within an hour or two. Then, they wheeled their luggage into the bedroom and began unpacking and making the bed.

It was the first time they shared counter space in the bathroom. It was easy enough for England to navigate the small space, but Russia filled the walkway between the counter and sink on one side and the wall on the other. England turned around from placing her shampoo in the corner of the tub and nearly face planted into Russia's chest. She felt her heart pound in her chest, and it was too similar to being trapped.

"Are you alright?" he asked, noticing her sudden change in demeanor.

"I'm fine," she answered, barely managing to keep her voice from squeaking. She looked up to see that his smile wasn't there, and that he actually looked concerned, and her heart calmed. She sucked in a deep breath, hoping he would move away on his own, but prepared to tell him to move if necessary.

Instead, Russia moved closer, reaching one hand towards her, "Are you sure?"

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, glaring at him and leaning away from the offending hand. He drew back his hand, and straightened. His creepy, usual smile was back, the one she hadn't seen since their wedding. She remembered that she could be frightening as well. They stood for several moments, staring at each other, and England wondered what could possibly be done to diffuse the tension without some sort of damage. He slammed down his toiletry bag on what free space was left on the counter.

"What is your problem?" he growled at her, creating a dissonance with his smile.

"My problem?" she sounded incredulous and angry.

"Yes, your problem!" he shouted, "You won't let me within an arm's length of you, but as soon as it's night, it's alright? What the hell?!"

"That's because it's different-" she attempted to explain, even going so far as to lower her voice before being interrupted.

"How!?" he bellowed, his smile shrinking to leave room for rage.

She didn't know how to say it. You're not dangerous when you're asleep? I want you to touch me, but I don't know how you'll react? I don't want you close enough to hurt me? Any one of those responses would be admitting that she feared him, and that there was truth to all of her former colonies' concerns. It would be risky for their relationship, which she didn't wish to jeopardize.

"What's so wrong with me touching you?" he demanded, no longer shouting at least. He, then, placed his hands on her waist, gently and cautiously, as if to prove that nothing was different except the time of day. Her heart rate picked up again, but this time she also blushed.

"I..I," she stuttered, still trying to think of something to say.

"If you don't want me touching you, you should just tell me," Russia said, the corners of his lips turning downwards in disappointment. He looked so serious, eyes searching her face, and England still couldn't come up with a convincing middle ground. Then, he looked away from her. As if physically saying 'fine', he mechanically removed his hands from her and left the room. She tried to call out to him, but still choked.

She wanted to break something, but the house wasn't hers to destroy and half of the things in the bathroom weren't hers either. There wasn't anything she could break without detrimental consequences, and she clenched her fists to keep from breaking something anyways. She paced, trying to get rid of some of her excess fury fueled energy. She tugged on her hair, trying to come up with something to say to Russia when she next saw him. She couldn't think of anything. She was too angry and kept coming up with problems and no solutions, overanalyzing everything that went wrong.

She sat down on the edge of the tub, and forced herself to take deep breaths to calm down. She ran her hands over her face, massaging out some of the tension she could there. When she removed her fingers, she found herself looking at Russia's toiletry bag, still sitting on the edge of the counter. She decided she should at least be productive instead of sitting, doing nothing, and mentally calling herself an idiot. She pulled out the last of Russia's belongings and put them beside her own. After tucking his bag away in the cabinet, she still didn't feel like leaving her tiny sanctuary in the bathroom. She rested her hips against the counter, and stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't look much different than when she had first entered the room.

She left the bathroom to see the main room empty. She tip toed down the hall, and kept silent when she spotted Russia moving around in the kitchen. They had bought groceries on their way to the house, and it was nearing dinner time. She left him to prepare their dinner, and slipped into the bedroom. "Oh, crap," she muttered to herself as she looked at the bed.

The bed was a full, barely big enough to fit two people, but there wasn't space in the room for anything larger. They were going to have to sleep in a smaller bed after just fighting about physical contact. She considered making up the bed in the other bedroom, but that would be breaking a rule in their agreement. The only way to get away with it would be to convince Russia to not tell anyone, which would either work really well, or set him off and make it worse. She was still coming to terms with the fact that they'd just had their first marital fight.

She didn't know what Russia was going to do, but she was going to ignore that bed until absolutely necessary. They might have to sleep together, but she could avoid both of them being awake at the same time in the same bed. "Are you going to stay for dinner?" Russia asked, startling England.

"What?" she asked, spinning around to face him and not sure if he was seriously asking that.

"Well," he said as he leaned against the door frame, "there was that small place we passed by the grocery store."

"And…?" she trailed off rather than try and formulate a proper question.

He shrugged and tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants. It was a little weird to see him perform such a familiar motion without his coat, but it was summer now, and getting warm. "I didn't think you would want to stay for dinner if there was another option available," he said, surprisingly without disappointment.

She considered that perhaps he was simply used to people running away after he yelled at them. They had run from her, too. She brushed her bangs away from her forehead and answered, "I'll stay for dinner, if you want me to."

"Xорошо (khorosho)*" he said, saying nothing more before leaving to begin cooking.

The awkwardness made a strong and horrific comeback near the end of the meal when there wasn't enough food left to excuse the silence. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to start yelling out all their faults or that they were idiots. They couldn't look at each other and made as little noise as possible. England felt miserable, and she was sure Russia did as well. By not telling him what she thought in an attempt to not make things worse, she had made things worse. They were now mutually stuck in the limbo of that, although they had made mistakes, it's not really either party's fault and it's not quite a misunderstanding that can be easily fixed.

The relaxing holiday they were supposed to have had disintegrated ridiculously quickly, and this time there weren't enough entertainment or work options to have one or the other of them staying up much too late. It eventually deteriorated to the point where they were sitting on either ends of the couch in a competition of fortitude, having completely forgone the lesson in Russian. They both were just sitting there waiting for the other to get up and go to sleep before they did, without even looking at each other.

"Alright, this is ridiculous. I'm going to bed," England said, too tired and frustrated to outlast her husband.

Russia said nothing as England left the room to change in their temporary bedroom. She changed quickly and crawled into her side of the bed. She was glad she decided to face the wall when Russia came into the room, much too soon for her to have fallen asleep. England's cheeks turned a vibrant red apple color when she quite clearly heard Russia begin changing. After he finished changing he climbed into bed and she must have given something away because he then said, "You're still awake."

"Yeah…" she admitted, curling into a ball.

He said something in Russian she didn't understand, but she figured it was something along the lines of 'oh brother'. She was hoping he wouldn't ask if she had looked because she had been far too embarrassed to just hear him change to even roll over and look. Neither said anything at all, and even breathed quietly, until Russia whispered, "Goodnight."

She heard him more comfortably situating himself before she whispered back, "Night."

They didn't say anything else, and England tried to think of anything that had not occurred during the day. She fell asleep, and woke to sunlight streaming from the window and her back against Russia's. She inhaled deeply before forcing herself to sit up. She glanced over and confirmed that her husband was still asleep. She found herself wondering why he had chosen to marry her. He had given reasons, but they didn't seem specific to her. Her thoughts brought her back to why she had said yes. She could've chosen to remain single, said no, lied, or even have married someone else. Whatever the reason she still didn't have the words to explain it.

They were married now, and they hadn't regretted it yet. She had known marriages that were worse and people who had married for less. They'd only had a fight, and they just needed to get over it. She got out of bed, and hoped she could be more forthcoming and forgiving as their relationship continued.

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><p>Well, I'm certain that's not really the direction you wanted me to be taking this story in, but it had to happen. Couples have fights unfortunately. I, also, want to be perfectly clear on the scarethreat/danger level. Yes, Russia is physically strong and his more unstable nature along with his creepiness and bad history he's pretty scary/threatening, but all of the other characters are nations, too. I don't think you can feasibly say any nation is not dangerous (not even Italy). All nations have had their bad moments, and while England no longer has the strength of an Empire, she does have the skills and expertise she gained from that experience. England isn't treated like a threat by the other nations, but that doesn't mean she isn't dangerous or hasn't been considered a threat in the past.

I just had to get that out there because I feel that some authors either/both play up Russia's threat level to other nations and downplay other nations threat levels in general. They're not human, and they can exert a lot of power given motive and opportunity.

Translation:  
>*ok<p>

So yeah, we'll see how well England follows her own advice. Please review!


	10. Chapter 10

Alright, so this chapter is a bit shorter than the last one (I'm sorry), but I'm so far ahead of schedule that you'll be getting a new chapter every Friday this November.

Also, in case you haven't noticed, there's a new image for this story, and it is Russia and England, except you can't really see it. So, I have it uploaded onto my deviantArt account. You can see it if you put this: /#/d5jgsgi at the end of the url (because I can't get the whole address to work otherwise)

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><p>How they managed to survive the two days before the gala without another major blow out, England didn't know. They kept to short, clipped sentences, and only talked to each other when they desperately needed to. They slept in the same bed, but England was out the door an hour after waking, and Russia returned an hour after she did to begin cooking. There was enough space to simply walk around and never cross paths for an entire day. Even on the night of the gala, she returned to the cottage before he did.<p>

After she returned to the house, she pulled her dress in its garment bag down from the closet and brought it into the bathroom. She hung in on the towel rack, shut the door, and then immediately began to work on her hair. Her hair had finally reached waist length this past year, and she found that it took longer to style her hair each formal event she went to. She had decided on something a little simpler for this gala. She began by pulling her bangs back and away from her face to start a French braid. She continued the braid down the right side of her head to the nape of her neck. Once she had finished plaiting her hair, she coiled and twisted it into an elegant bun. It was much easier than trying to recreate the volumized updoes that had once again returned to popularity.

She then began applying make-up. She had never used blush, but she always wore a light layer of foundation. The eye shadow she used was dark, perfect for creating a smoky look with just enough purple to contrast beautifully with her green eyes. She might not wear make-up every day, but she did know how to wear it when she did. She finished with a deep red lipstick that went well with her pale skin.

Next was the dress. Russia had intended to go with her dress shopping, whether to coordinate outfits or to simply spend time with her she hadn't known, but had been unable to due to a few work related issues she hadn't been privy to. Putting on the dress now for the second time, she was glad he hadn't. It gave her a chance to surprise him. She couldn't explain why she wanted to look gorgeous for Russia, except that perhaps that she wanted to show herself off to her husband. She finished putting it on and felt a flash of regret once more for letting their situation spiral into a fight. She had let her fears get the best of her, but forcibly pushed those thoughts from her mind.

She glanced in the mirror and thought she looked wonderful as she smoothed out her dress. It was an unusual cut and design, inspired by late Victorian fashion. The man made material was soft, smooth, and slimming. It felt wonderful to the touch, and the color was a near perfect match to her eye shadow. One of the reasons she had thought it was worth buying. The other was that even though the dress was sewn to look as if it had a corset and buttoned up to her chin, it had no sleeves and the back was cut out from just beneath her neck down to about the small of her back.

She put on simple, gold dangle earrings to match with her with her wedding ring, which she currently wasn't wearing. She pulled on long matching gloves that went up past her elbow. She slid her ring back onto her finger. She jumped when she heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"Are you ready yet?" Russia called through the door.

"Wait a moment," England called back to him, fixing all the little bits and pieces of her appearance. After a few touch ups, she was ready to leave for her first public appearance with her husband since their wedding. She opened the door.

Russia was looking rather dashing in a plain, standard suit, even with his scarf. It was better than if he had worn his uniform. The colors would have clashed horrendously. He was holding a small, black box in his hands. "What's that?" she asked, looking directly at it.

"It's a gift," he answered, holding it towards her, "for you. I bought it before we left."

"Thank you," she said demurely as she took the gift from him. She pulled off the top, and was pleasantly surprised. She asked, "You picked this out?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She put the box inside of its top, and pulled out the hair pin nestled inside. She had never been partial to hair decorations, but she could make an exception for this one. Attached to the end of the golden pin was a magnificently detailed butterfly. She was pleased to note that it matched. She gently stuck the pin into the center of the right side braid, just a little forward of her ear. "You have good taste," she complimented, and received a nod of acknowledgement.

"I just have to grab my purse then we can leave," she said, heading for their bedroom. She set down the empty box, snatched up her black clutch, and returned to find Russia wearing a hint of his little insanity smile.

"Your dress has no back," he commented, tonelessly.

"I know, that's why I picked it," she said, sweeping past him to the front door.

"If I had known that," he said as he shut the door, "I would've given you a shawl."

England didn't laugh, but she did smirk. They left the little house, and arrived just in time for the gala. She had stopped believing in fashionably late centuries ago. Others were arriving, and Russia guided her into the building, her arm linked in his. The building was beautiful, and so were the decorations. The company seemed polite, but England could only understand about one word out of twenty. She regretted that their fight had prevented her from learning more Russian. As the guests Russia was speaking to were oblivious to her, she bitterly thought of how she hated being ignored and that she had once wanted nothing to do with their language. These people only wanted to discuss the weather in English.

She abandoned her post beside her husband to take a glass of champagne and become a wall flower. She detested that category of party goer, but it didn't have a language barrier. She must be a beautiful one, she thought balefully as she caught a number of glances or lingering stares in her direction. None were her husband's. The dancing began by the time she had finished her glass. She was asked to dance by a man she didn't recognize, though she could understand the simple enough question, and left her glass for the dance floor.

She avoided eye contact with her partner. He said very little, and she answered even less. The end of the dance came soon enough, and she sought out another glass of champagne. She was stopped on her path to the wall by an older gentlemen. He asked in English if she was Russia's wife. She leapt at the opportunity to have a proper conversation, and had answered yes. She was grateful that the man kept the subject on the policy changes between the nations. It was an inexhaustible topic.

She felt a sharp pain in her wrist, and the glass slipped through her fingers and shattered against the floor. She almost dropped her clutch to hold her wrist, but quickly realized her left wrist was broken. Less than a few seconds later, Russia was by her side. For a man who had ignored her for the past hour, it was an impressive reaction time.

"What's happened?" he asked, sounding unusually severe.

"I don't know," she answered, wondering what had happened to cause one of her bones to break.

"Пожалуйста, простите нас (Pozhaluysta, prostite nas)*," he said to the gentleman she had been talking with. He took her uninjured arm and placed a hand on her back, and quickly led her out of the main room. He ordered the flocking staff around until he was directed to a room with a television. He set her down in the nearest chair, and began flicking through the channels until he reached the one for current international news. A town in Eastern England was featured.

They listened silently as the reporter covered the story of how the decrepit water main in the town had finally burst apart. The government had not renovated that area's piping yet, still working out the kinks in their solutions for the major cities. The casualties were in the double digits and the total cost estimation was steadily rising.

"Shit," England commented calmly. She placed her clutch in her lap, and rubbed her forehead with her uninjured hand. "I knew this was going to happen," she murmured.

They sat for several minutes, silently watching the television. "Do you want to get a cast now?" Russia asked quietly.

England's wrist wasn't going to heal until some of the damage caused by the incident was remedied. Modern medicine couldn't cure her body, but it would certainly help alleviate the pain. She nodded and stood. Let the doctor deal with getting her glove off.

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><p>*Please, excuse us<p>

So yeah, not a very happy ball. Infrastructure is definitely a concern for current first world nations as it gets older (it being roads, bridges, pipelines, dams, and levees). It would definitely continue to be a concern in the future, so this could feasibly happen. If it doesn't, I don't think anyone will bother to tell me 'I told you so'. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and are pleased to hear that you'll be getting another update next Friday.

Please review!

P.S. I think my new ulterior motive for writing this is starting a Fem!EnglandxRussia movement in the Hetalia fanbase because there seriously needs to be more.


	11. Chapter 11

So here's the next update. I take a few liberties with the medical field, but hopefully it isn't that noticeable/big of a deal.

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><p>It took a little over two hours for England to be seen by a doctor. It had taken half an hour to drive to the hospital on the opposite end of the sprawling town, and then after arriving in the emergency room they had been passed from nurse, to nurse, to nurse. There weren't many doctors on staff that night, but at least the one they had been taken to was wide awake and looking healthy. Russia recited the cover story for England's wrist perfectly to him, after having fumbled over it when explaining it to the first nurse.<p>

The doctor had needed to snap her wrist back into place, and she feared what that meant for her people. He had to apply anesthesia to the area with a needle. She couldn't look away as the doctor did his job. Despite the lack of pain, she still jumped when her wrist was realigned, but made no noise. The doctor admitted to her that he was impressed by her bravery.

"You should be," she muttered under her breath. Both the doctor and Russia heard her anyways. The doctor glanced up at her with a hurt look on his face.

"Don't antagonize the kind doctor," Russia said from his seat beside the exam table, "He complemented you."

"She's in pain, it's fine," the doctor said, waving off his nation's concern, "I still have to get your glove off, and your ring. I'm just going to have to cut off your glove."

"Fine, do it," she said, holding her hand out towards him.

He took her hand gently into his. He carefully pulled her ring from her finger, but still managed to elicit a number of hisses. With small scissors he quickly cut through the material of her glove. He threw away the two new scraps of material, returned the scissors to their drawer, and gathered what he needed for encasing her arm. He began applying the cast immediately, and finished quickly. England was again grateful for the speed of modern medical technology.

"You're all set. Make an appointment with your regular doctor when you get back home," the doctor said as he moved away to allow England to get up.

Russia stood and offered her his arm. She accepted it and he guided her to the door. "Lovely back…er to your dress," the doctor commented as they were leaving.

Russia turned back to face the doctor, and England could feel the oppressive and menacing waves wafting off of him. "Don't antagonize the kind doctor, love," England said as she dug the nails of her uninjured hand into the arm around it, "he's complimenting me."

Russia grudgingly turned away. As they were leaving, he said, "I should have gotten you a shawl."

"I wouldn't have worn it anyways," she told him as they walked towards their car. They didn't say anything to each other during the ride home. England turned on the radio, effectively killing any chance of conversation. The drive was short enough.

They returned to the little house, and Russia unlocked the door. They stepped into the house, and he moved on to the bedroom while she shut the door. She was standing outside of the bathroom when she said, "Shit."

"What?" Russia asked. He was pulling off his suit jacket and hanging it back in the bedroom closet.

"I need help," England said, just loud enough to be clearly heard.

"With what?" he asked as he walked out of the bedroom, unbuttoning his cufflinks.

"I can't get this dress off with one hand," she said, placing her healthy hand on her hip, "I can't undo the clasps."

"Turn around then," Russia said, mimicking the motion with his hand.

She obliged, straightening to her full height for his convenience. It took him several long moments to undo all of the miniscule hook and eye clasps, but when it was free the fabric slipped straight down. England squeaked, but managed to catch her dress before it revealed too much. Russia chuckled deeply over her shoulder, "Nice panties."

She glared at him, even though she knew she was blushing. She shuffled past him and into the safety of the bedroom before he got a chance to make a move towards it. Once the door was shut, she let the dress drop. She was certainly glad she wasn't wearing a bra, otherwise she would've had to have Russia help her with it, too. She stepped out of the dress, hung it up, and put on her pajamas. She opened the door to see Russia casually waiting outside.

She walked passed him and into the bathroom. She was getting closer daily to matching her nighttime routine to Russia's inversed routine. When she stepped out of the bathroom, the door to the bedroom was open. Russia was already in bed, lying on his side. She pulled out the hair pin and placed it back in its box before unraveling the rest of her hair and climbing into bed beside him, and made sure to face away from him.

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><p>In the morning, after getting ready for the day and succeeding in getting a bra on one-handedly by herself, she called her boss. He was harried and talking to his people as well as talking with her. She spent over an hour waiting for him to speak to her and listening to him discussing options with other people, yelling at others, and asking for more tea. Half of what he said was concerned with what he would be saying to the press on the evening British news. Russia quietly made breakfast for both of them and hovered as she sat with the phone. England wedged the phone between her left ear and shoulder, and ate bites with her right hand when her boss was talking to someone else.<p>

"Has he said anything yet?" Russia asked after he returned from rinsing their breakfast dishes.

"Not to me, not yet," she answered, pulling the phone away to rub her ear with the back of her hand, "I hope you're going to prevent this from happening to you."

"Yes," he answered, "We have a few projects working on different sections of my land. None are completely perfect, but they're much better than they were."

"Parliament is just going to have to implement what it has so far. It's too dangerous to let them remain as they are," she said, tuning back into what her boss was saying.

"England, are you still there?" her boss asked loudly over the line.

"Yes, I'm here," she said, turning from Russia to focus on her boss.

"Alright, we have a plan of action. We're going to evacuate the area and begin fixing the pipelines immediately. We're concerned about the sewer pipelines following suit, so we're going to fix them as well. After that, we'll begin draining the area. The land's not going to absorb the water, and there's nowhere for it to run off. Has anything happened to you?" he asked, sounding exhausted, stressed, and concerned.

"Yes, my wrist broke," she answered.

"Dear God," he spat out, "I was hoping it would only be bruising. There might be some other problem then. This is an infrastructure nightmare, and there's no good way to fix it. We'll have to advance the work we're doing on pipelines. Hopefully the boys will be able to come up with something brilliant. What's this for? Oh, where do I sign? Alright, be quick about it. Sorry, more forms. Is there anything else?"

"Do I need to come home?" she asked, glancing over at Russia and seeing that he was watching her intently.

"I'm not sure, not today at least. I know you're on vacation. I'll call you the minute I know we need you here," he said.

"If you think I'm needed now I'll catch the soonest flight," she told him.

"No, I can't know until after this evening. After the press release, I'll have an answer for you. If it goes well, I think you'll be able to stay with Russia," he said firmly.

"Alright, good luck," she said.

"Thanks,"

She hung up. "What'd he say?" Russia asked.

"He said he's going to tell me tomorrow whether or not I have to go home," she explained.

He nodded, "What do we do today then?"

England looked over at him, and didn't have an answer. "I don't know," she responded.

"We could go for a walk," he suggested.

"To where?" she asked with a little bite in her tone. She wanted to help her people, and she felt so useless here. She wanted to sit and follow her news closely, but it wouldn't matter in the end. She couldn't do anything from here.

"Nowhere," he answered then gestured towards the back of the house, "that way."

She looked towards the back of the house, clearly imagining the field behind it that stretched on towards the horizon. The cottage was at the very edge of the town, and there was open and unused land beyond it. It was more appealing than sitting around all day or spending it avoiding him. "Fine," she agreed, standing up.

"Excellent," he said, standing up as well. He led the way out of the back door, and waited for her to catch up. He shut the door behind them, and they walked side by side off the edge of the patio. The sky was clear and there was a gentle breeze. They walked silently together.

As they passed wild flowers and other plants that weren't grass, Russia began telling England their Russian names. He laughed good naturedly at all of her attempts at pronouncing them the way he did. She blushed and felt frustrated, but repeating his words kept her focused on the moment.

After they were out of sight of the cottage, they reached a stream. It was only a few inches deep, but several feet across. England attempted to cross using the stones peeping out of the water as a bridge, but nearly slid off one of the rocks half way. Russia had walked through the water, uncaring if his boots got wet, and steadied her by putting a hand at her back and the other on her arm.

"Thanks," she said as she continued on her path across the stones with Russia's hand on her shoulder.

When they reached the opposite bank, he offered her his hand, palm up. She cautiously placed her unbroken right hand in his. He smiled slightly, and they continued walking with their hands lightly clasped together. She could feel his callouses. Hers had begun to disappear a number of decades ago. When she wasn't repeating his words, she wondered about what had caused him to keep his.

"What?" she asked when she realized that he had asked her a question.

"I asked if you were hungry," he informed her.

"Oh, Yes, I guess. We can head back for lunch," she said.

They turned around. This time Russia steadied her on her bridge of rocks by allowing her to use his arm as a brace. They returned to the patio several hours after they had left.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, looking pointedly at her cast.

"Yes,"

"Good."

England was told the following morning that she didn't have to return to London. She was surprised to find that she was alright with that.

* * *

><p>England's wrist is pretty bad as I have her radius and the bone in the hand that's located above it broken. She basically can't hold anything in her left hand with the cast on (made worse as my headcanon says she's left handed). Russia and England are now over their fight, but they haven't actually solved the problem. Way to avoid the issue, guys.<p>

In other news, I should be adding a chapter to "Psychobabble" that's from Russia's POV sometime soon. I've drawn a chibi version of a scene from the previous chapter and that may or may not end up on Deviantart sometime so there's at least a little more RussiaxFem!England fan art. There's another RussiaxFem!England fic titled "Between Roses and Sunflowers" by Amairam0 and there's also "Magically Troublicious" by KorosuKa which is RussiaxFem!England in case this isn't enough for you.

Hope you enjoyed, and please review!


	12. Chapter 12

This chapter is unfortunately a little short, but the next chapter should make up for it. Please enjoy!

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><p>England realized that she felt at home in Russia's house when she breathed a sigh of relief once they had entered his house. It still didn't have the same sort of feeling her house did, but it seemed a little closer. It probably would never feel quite the same as it was on Russian land, and Russian land would never feel like English land.<p>

"Are you coming?" Russia asked from the foot of the stairs, gesturing upwards. She nodded and followed him up. They both placed their suitcases on the bed and began unpacking. England pulled out all of her dirty clothes and tossed them into her hamper. She couldn't unpack entirely, as they were only spending a night at Russia's house before leaving again. She tapped him on the arm as he passed by her to get his attention.

"When are we leaving tomorrow for the World Meeting?" she asked.

"About nine," he answered, "we'll get to the hotel in the early afternoon so we'll have time to make last minute preparations when we get there."

"Do you know if they sent out the rooming arrangements?" she asked, "I didn't check my email yesterday. I hope they heeded all of my requests."

"What requests did you make?" he asked, dumping the last of his dirty clothes into his hamper before turning back to her.

"Well, you can't be by America, and I cannot be anywhere near Hong Kong. He never gives up on his fireworks. I also requested that we not be by France because I'd rather not deal with that situation at the moment," she said, listing off her requests and tapping her fingers as she did so.

"That seems fair," he commented, rubbing the edge of his chin. She didn't think he had shaved since the night of the ball and she could see the beginning of stubble. She cursed her good eyesight mentally, and dragged her eyes away from his face.

"I'll check the weather for the coming week," she informed him as she pulled out her phone. The small devices had become dreadfully convenient over the years. She easily found what she was looking for, "It's going to be rather warm, and clear skies."

"Alright," he said, moving away to begin packing for their next week away.

"Maybe we should have left more than a night in between," she mused as she began pulling out new clothes to pack into her suitcase. She was careful to make sure her undergarments were positioned so that they hidden from view, specifically Russia's. When she had imagined marriage when she was younger, she hadn't thought of being so self-conscious around her husband that she would have to hide away clothes in such a way. She made sure not to check if Russia was doing the same.

"What would you like for dinner?" he asked as she stood before her suitcase making sure she had everything. He braced himself with his hands on the foot board, leaning over with his head level to England's.

"Doesn't matter," she answered, tearing her gaze from her open suitcase. She blinked when she saw that he was so close, and for an instant thought she should kiss his cheek. Her face reddened at the thought no matter how immediately she cast the idea away as insane. She hoped that he wouldn't notice, but she could tell he did by the way his eyebrows rose slightly.

"If you say so," he said, pushing off the bed to return to a proper standing position. He left the room, and a few minutes later and after packing a bit more, England followed him to the kitchen. She took her usual seat and watched him cooked, chin propped in her hand.

"Will you always watch me cook?" he asked suddenly. He glanced over at her with the barest hint of a smile before turning back to the food.

"Why, do you not want me to?" she asked, straightening in her seat and raising her chin out of her hand.

"No," he said with a light laugh, "I was just wondering."

"Oh," she said sullenly and returned her chin to her hand, "I suppose I'll watch when I can."

"Why?" he asked, adding no other descriptions to the question.

"Why, what? Will I watch?" she asked and received a nod, "I don't know."

"Well, I like it," he said then coughed, making sure to cover his mouth, and cleared his throat before shyly continuing, "when you watch."

She didn't know what to say, but accepted his words. He continued with his cooking and didn't seem to notice that she hadn't responded. He served the meal about twenty minutes later, and England had not been bored. She had carefully followed his actions with her eyes, and had wondered why she couldn't make meals like that.

She thanked him for the food, and began eating when he sat down. They usually sat with both of them completely facing the counter, but not this time. She was half turned towards him, and he was half turned towards her. She had one foot on a rung, and the other crossed over the first. He had one foot on the ground and the other a rung higher. They didn't say anything about it, but left their knees inches apart as they ate.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked when she had finished her meal.

"Sure," he answered.

She got down off the stool, and as she did asked, "Would you like any kind in particular?"

"No," he replied, getting off his stool to take both of their plates and rinse them in the sink.

"Okay," she said, opening the cabinet to see her new and small collection of teas she had accumulated while living with Russia. She picked one at random, as she favored them all, and pulled out the kettle to begin boiling the water. Russia sat at the counter and stayed with her and watched as she prepared the tea.

When she finished and handed him his cup, he told her, "I can see why you like to watch me cook."

She blushed and sipped her tea, but didn't answer.

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><p>The next morning, they took public transportation to the train station. The World Meeting was in Europe once again, and it would be a short enough trip by train. They reached the platform with ample time to spare. They discussed what they would be making speeches on, seating arrangements, and room arrangements as they waited for the train. There was a delay elsewhere on the tracks, and the train pulled into station eighteen minutes behind schedule. They didn't comment on it to the conductor, as they weren't the ones on a tight schedule, and took seats across from each other beside a window.<p>

England had brought a book to read, and Russia had brought his portable mp3 player, which she noticed was about two decades old at this point. She had forgotten her mp3 player at home, twice, and it was nearing three. A large portion of the nations didn't bother with keeping up with the technology anymore if it wasn't necessary, and it wasn't uncommon to see even humans with certain devices a decade or so old.

She read for the duration of the trip. She glanced over the top of her pages every so often to check on Russia. He frequently stared off into space or out of the window, silently listening to his music. Once or twice, however, she thought she'd caught him staring at her. She never said anything about it, even after they had exited the train and had put away their respective entertainment devices.

They saw no other nations as they checked into the hotel. All of England's requirements had been met, but that had placed them on the top floor of the hotel. They had crammed into an elevator with their luggage, and slowly the elevator emptied until it was just the two of them, the humans unaware of the married nations standing amongst them. They said nothing to each other the whole time and Russia gestured for her to exit the elevator first when they reached their floor.

They unpacked quickly for the coming week of insanity. When they finished, England felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to face her husband. "Would you," he began while fiddling with his scarf, which he still wore despite the warming temperature, "like to go out for dinner?"

England's eyes widened as she realized that she was being asked out on a date.

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><p>And yes, I'm cutting it off there.<p>

Please review!


	13. Chapter 13

And now I present England and Russia's first date. Unfortunately, after this it's back to the monthly updates. This chapter is rather long though, so savor it. I'm still sort of surprised that this story with its unusual pairing has gotten so much attention. I like it though as writing this has made fem!EnglandxRussia my OTP.

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><p>England wasn't sure what she was doing. She felt like she was dressing up for Russia again, even if he had said that the restaurant they were going to was more formal. The best she'd been able to wear out of her suitcase was a business style dress, to her knees and sleeveless. She couldn't get it on properly, only able to zip up the back halfway one handedly. She let it be for the moment, resigning herself to requesting Russia's help, and applied her make-up.<p>

She exited the bathroom to see Russia tying his tie. It was a purple that almost matched his eyes, and it went well with the charcoal grey suit he was wearing. She allowed herself to be a little bit jealous of the versatility of men's suits. "My, don't you look dashing," she commented to bring his attention to her.

He glanced over at her and finished tying his tie before replying, "Thanks."

"Mind zipping me up?" she asked, using her thumb to gesture at her back. He nodded and walked over to her. She turned around, pulling her loose hair around to her front so it wouldn't be caught in the zipper. It took him only a moment to pull the zipper evenly up and close her dress.

She turned back around to face him, and she watched as his eyes traveled the length of her body. Even in her four inch black pumps, he was still much taller than her. She felt so dwarfed. "Why did you decide to leave your hair down?" he asked.

She pulled her fingers down through the length of her hair as she answered, "It's less business-like, better for dinner."

She usually wore her hair back in a low ponytail or a low bun, but when it was down it broke the plain black monotony of her dress. He smiled minutely and said, "It looks nice."

"Thank you," she said, nodding her head. She went over to her bedside table to grab her purse which she had stuffed with everything she needed on her, but couldn't fit into her pocket-less dress.

"Ready to go?" he asked, gesturing towards the door.

"Mhhm," she responded as she pulled the long, skinny strap of her purse onto her shoulder. Russia led the way to the hotel lobby. They were lucky once again as even though there were two nations in the lobby, neither had noticed them slipping outside. They took a cab to the restaurant only he knew of. Russia helped her out of the car, and she was able to read the name of the restaurant.

"This is a French restaurant," she observed aloud. She hadn't ever expressly told him that she'd rather never eat French food, but she thought that her and France's relationship would make that obvious enough.

"I know, but it has the best reviews," he told her as they walked towards the entrance, "You have an iron stomach and would probably be up for anything, but I thought you might like something nice."

"I would not be up for anything," she commented sourly, "but this is fine, I suppose."

He said nothing in response to her, choosing instead to speak to one of the staff so they could be lead to the table he had reserved. Their table was small and set for two in the center of the room. The colors of the room were soft and the decorations chic. They took their seats and the waiter presented them with menus. They were silent as they decided what to order. After the waiter had taken their orders and the menus they had been previously hiding behind, they were left awkwardly sharing glances between them.

Russia took the first step to a conversation, and asked, "How's your wrist?"

"It's fine, better than yesterday," she told him, running her fingers over her cast, "Thanks for asking."

"Why do we never talk about anything?" he asked, foregoing etiquette and putting his elbow on the table.

"I thought we talked plenty," she said shortly, not wanting to bring the conversation in the direction he wanted to take it.

"Sure, about policies and current events and other people," he said, rolling his eyes, "not about us."

"What is there to us?" she asked, feeling exasperated. They were married, but they could hardly be called a couple. This was their first date. It was true they didn't talk about 'us' because there wasn't any 'us'. It was just her and him.

"Hardly anything," he admitted, running a hand through his bangs and pulling and holding them back for a moment before releasing them, "which is why we should talk about it."

"Well, I don't want to talk about something that's barely anything," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"You're so frustrating," he told her, rubbing his forehead briefly then glaring at her.

That ticked her off. She scowled, and asked, "Then why did you bother marrying me?"

Russia stopped glaring and shifted in his seat, "Partly because you're an interesting woman, and partly because of the way you look in that dress."

England had been on the receiving end of a number of comments on her body, most of them from France. Still, she blushed and wished he hadn't said it quite so matter-of-fact-ly. "Oh," she said, and began frantically twisting a lock of her hair as she desperately tried to think of something to say in return.

Her husband however seemed to be relieved of his dour mood. There was a slight smile on his lips as he watched as his wife was reduced to using blushing as her only response because of a compliment. She huffed and refused to say anything to him or look at him. They were only silently stealing glances again for a few moments before the waiter came with their food.

They didn't continue their conversation as they ate their meal. Russia's attempts at starting a conversation were not enough to coax England into discussing the things they needed to, or at least he felt they needed to. They were in a swanky restaurant with nicer food, but their dinner was hardly any different than the ones they had shared in Russia's house. That was until a piercing shriek absolutely shattered the atmosphere of the restaurant.

Everyone stopped eating to search for the woman who'd caused the noise. A woman came running out of the bathroom and shouted while pointing at the door, "There's a cockroach in the bathroom!"

A number of people had fantastic spit takes before running from the room or began shrilly screaming and tossing away their silverware. England and Russia shared a look before calmly setting down their silverware as well and vacating the premises. They were jostled by the other people rushing about and yelling at each other or over the phone. They walked away from the scene, and then turned back to watch as people gathered on the street still freaking out over a cockroach.

"Now, we have to go find somewhere else to eat," Russia said, sounding disappointed, looking farther down the street, and checking for another place to eat.

"Why? We were almost finished," she was full, and not interested in eating anymore after hearing about a cockroach. It made her nauseous to think that such a bug could have been near her food. It couldn't have hurt her, but it was still a disgusting creature.

"I'm still hungry," he said, motioning for the both of them to start walking down the street.

"How can you want to eat after all that?" she asked, waving her arm in the direction of the restaurant they'd just left.

"Well, I'm big so I eat a lot, you're small so you eat nothing," he said plainly.

"I do not eat nothing," she retorted.

"You eat half serving sizes, that's nothing," he argued.

"No, you eat double the serving size," she said then pointed at him, "You eat too much. I eat just the right amount."

He shook his head, "No, I don't think so."

"Whatever," she said, waving away that topic of conversation, "Where do you want to go? I can't walk all over the city in these heels."

"We can go get a dessert, if you want," he suggested as he checked the road for passing vehicles. They stepped off the curb to cross the street.

"Ice cream," she said suddenly, "We could go get ice cream."

"Ice cream?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, "Why ice cream?"

"Because it's warm out and ice cream is good. I haven't had it in a while," she said as they continued walking.

"Alright, we'll get ice cream," he conceded.

"We could use our phones to find somewhere that sells ice cream," she reminded him as they wandered through the streets.

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked as he tucked his hands into his suit's pockets. He waited for a few seconds until she drew even with him. His longer strides kept him routinely edging ahead of her.

"You just don't like maps, do you?" she asked, doing her best to keep up with his pace as they continued to search for ice cream.

"I don't know about that, but there has to be an ice cream place around here. I don't need a map for that," he said, looking around at store signs when they reached another intersection.

"What about over there?" England asked, pointing to a sign about halfway down the block to their right.

"That looks like the place," he said, turning down that street.

"Slow down, you don't have to walk so fast," she told him, jogging a few steps to catch up with him.

"Sorry," he said. He pulled open the door to the ice cream shop, and gestured for her to enter. She went into the store, and he followed behind her. The place was clean, the walls sunshine yellow, the floor cream, and the lights bright. There was only one teenaged boy behind the counter, and he seemed to have been woken out of a doze by the door closing. They walked over to the display, and the boy waited silently for them to order.

"Go ahead," Russia said, facing her and not the display.

"Oh, er," she looked over the various types of ice cream then pointed to the one she wanted, "the mint chocolate chip, small, and in a cone please."

The boy nodded, and turned to her husband for his order. "I'll have the vanilla, medium," he told him.

"Cone or bowl, sir?" the boy asked.

Russia shrugged, "Cone."

The boy quickly scooped out their orders and handed them their cones. Russia paid, and they left the store. They wandered around, eating their cones as they walked. "Where are we going?" England asked.

"No idea," he answered, "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not," she said. She caught a drip with her tongue before it reached her fingers.

"How are you almost done with yours?" she asked, glancing at his almost half eaten cone.

"By eating it?" he gave her a confused look. He ate a mouthful of the top of his cone. They couldn't talk as their cones melted in the warm air. Russia had finished his ice cream, cone and all, as England was reaching the edge of her cone.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to eat the rest of this," she murmured as she stared at the cone in her hand that was quickly becoming mushy from the melted ice cream.

"I'll finish it," he said, holding his hand out for her cone.

"You sure?" she asked, wondering where he had space in his stomach for another cone.

"Absolutely," he assured her. She handed him her cone, and he ate it within a minute.

"That…was kind of disgusting to watch," she admitted.

He raised his arms, palms up in a 'what?' gesture, "I was just eating."

"There's no way anyone could possibly physically eat that much food," she said, shaking her head.

"I just did," he said, dropping his arms.

"You're not going to throw up are you?" she asked, looking suspicious of him and his stomach.

He looked as if that was the most absurd question he'd ever heard, "No."

"Let's get a cab. I need to wash off my hand," she said. She rubbed her fingers together and could feel the sticky melted ice cream coating her skin. Russia hailed a cab and they headed back to the hotel. They had been walking away from their hotel so it took longer to return to it than it had to be driven to the restaurant. They were discussing their favorite ice cream flavors when they walked into the lobby.

"Oh no," England said as soon she spotted the familiar blond head of hair.

Russia followed her gaze to the nation, and his good mood disappeared. "Wonderful," he muttered, looking over to the elevators to judge the distance.

America turned around before they could take a step towards the safe haven. "England!" she shouted cheerfully in greeting.

She ran over to the two of them, and grabbed her uninjured arm. "Come with me," she ordered, and dragged her off into the lady's restroom.

"America, what are you doing?" she shouted at the younger nation as soon as they came to a halt.

"What? I needed to talk to you privately," she responded with a shrug.

"You could've asked," she snarled at her, drawing back and then adding, "We were on a date."

"You're dating him now!?" America asked, looking shocked.

"I've already married him. What's so bad about a date?" she asked, questioning why America was so surprised by the news.

"Dating leads to liking," she pointed out, holding up her index finger.

"So, what's wrong with that?" England asked. She crossed her arms and leaned her hip on the edge of the sinks' counter.

"It's Russia," she stressed, as if liking the nation on any level was some sort of blasphemy. England had her own reasons for wanting to not like him too much, but they applied to others in general and not him in specific. America was being biased and unfair.

"So it's all alright so long as it's someone else?" she asked acerbically.

America didn't have a response, or at least one she knew wouldn't send England into a raging fury. "Are you defending him then?" the younger nation asked caustically.

"I'm defending my right to choose whom I care for regardless of your opinion because it's none of your business," she stated definitively, straightening to her full height even if she was inches shorter than the younger.

"But it's Russia," America argued childishly, and stamping her foot on the ground.

"Why does that matter so much to you?" England asked.

"I don't think you're fully aware of what he's capable of," she argued, taking a more serious route and a more serious tone.

"Quite frankly, neither are you. You've only fought with him. What's he like the rest of the time?" she countered.

"Still dangerous, which I don't think you understand," she said stubbornly.

"So am I. I can take care of myself America," she said and turned away, "I'm done."

"No! You can't!" America suddenly shouted, moved to panic as England began leaving, "He can't have you!"

England turned back to her, eyes blazing and scowling. "Is your rivalry with him so great that our friendship means nothing? Am I just a prize for the winner? I'm a person, America. If you can't accept my decisions then leave me alone," she spat.

She stormed out of the bathroom before America could say anything more. America, however, was just quick enough and caught her by the arm, pulling her back into the conversation before she got too far away. "And what about your wrist, huh?" she asked, pulling her arm up.

England was so infuriated that she couldn't stop herself from lashing out and smacking America across the cheek. "How dare you make such assumptions! Don't you watch the international news? My water mains in the east broke, you idiot!" she pulled herself free of the younger's slack grasp and marched off towards the elevator.

"What happened?" Russia asked, having caught up to her while she wasn't paying attention.

"I can't believe her," England muttered to herself, not listening to her husband at all, "Does she treat everyone that way?"

"What happened?" Russia repeated as England jabbed the up button for the elevator unnecessarily hard.

"Nothing!" she snapped, "America was just being an idiot."

"You smacked her," he reminded her as they entered the elevator.

"Because what she said was completely uncalled for," she said, waving her arms around and smacking her hand on the thin banister going around the interior of the elevator. She hissed as her broken wrist took the impact.

"Calm down," Russia said soothingly, placing his hands on her shoulders and running them down her arms, "Getting all excited won't help anything."

"I know, it's just," she took a deep breath to calm herself before continuing, "she's so aggravating sometimes."

"If she angers you so much, why do you remain friends with her?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious about her response.

"I don't think you could understand," she admitted slowly, practically able to watch as he closed off and drew away from her. She wondered if she was imagining the hurt in his expression, or if it was actually there.

"No, I suppose not," he agreed darkly, "especially not in regards to America."

They didn't talk anymore after that. The silently readied for bed, and Russia kept his distance. England thought, just before falling asleep, that the night had been kind of awful.

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><p>Ah, America, way to ruin a date. Poor England.<p>

A couple of notes:  
>1. My headcanon dictates that nations can't contract communicable diseases the way normal humans do, so a cockroach won't actually be able to cause a nation any harm.<br>2. England does have her reasons for not wanting to get too close to other nations, but despite that she's trying really hard to be fair to Russia. To have America undermine that by attacking her relationship with Russia because it's with Russia would tick her off (I'm of the opinion that because of the Cold War Russia and America are only capable of seeing each other as opposing competitors no matter how their governments or people change).  
>3. On the subject of national events affecting the personifications, my headcanon says nations don't necessarily know how disasters will affect the body of the personification. So, even if America did know about the water main breaks, she wouldn't know that it could cause England's wrist to break as well. To America, the logical assumption is that Russia broke her wrist even if the water mains weakened it first. I'm going to assume that you know where that train of thought leads.<p>

Yeah, lots of notes, sorry. I hope to get up more Fem!EnglandxRussia stories sometime soon, but I did post the second chapter to my fic "Psychobabble" which is in Russia's pov if you want more and haven't checked that out already. I hope you enjoyed, and please review!


	14. Chapter 14

Can't believe I'm on chapter 14 already. It's shorter than the last chapter, but it's from Russia's point of view. I'm incredibly nervous about it so be gentle. Let me remind you that this is based mostly off history rather than canon so don't be weirded out too much by the middlish bit. Anyways, enjoy!

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><p>England woke the next morning for the first day of the Meeting feeling exhausted, and hadn't wanted to get out of bed. However, she did, once Russia had gotten out of bed and had taken a good portion of the warmth with him. He got the bathroom first, and so she occupied herself with her other preparations such as picking out her clothes and organizing her papers and so forth. He ignored her and she ignored him when they switched places with England taking the bathroom.<p>

She felt guilty and awkward, but didn't feel the need to apologize. They were silent on their trip to where the nations were meeting, and she almost missed the way they had been talking before America had interrupted. Still, she walked calmly beside Russia and gave no hint of the troubles between them. Russia was doing the same, and his ominous presence kept the other nations at bay for the moment.

Upon entering the building, England heard a guttural growl of, "You!"

England didn't even have to turn to know it was Belarus. She had had some of the men her boss allowed her to subtly keep her occupied and unaware of their wedding ceremony, but she had known that such subterfuge would eventually lead to this. She had only hoped that her new sister-in-law would have had the tact to choose a more private setting for her confrontation. Belarus continued to stomp towards her, ranting in Belarusian, and England couldn't understand a word.

Instead of walking forward the last few steps, Belarus leapt at her. She wrapped her fingers around her throat and knocked her to the floor. She continued to curse at her, and England could feel the spit hitting her face.

"Belarus!" Russia bellowed, physically pulling his sister off of his wife. She struggled to be released, but she couldn't escape from the headlock he'd put her in. She quieted when he began speaking to her, his voice cold and deep. England couldn't understand what he was saying, but watched Belarus's reaction to his words as she stood. She was still angry and annoyed, but she was listening to him. Hopefully, that would be enough; otherwise England would have her own words for her.

He released her and she stormed off. Russia looked to England. "Thanks, but I didn't need your help," she said.

He sent her a look that bordered on confusion. "I'm perfectly capable of handling her myself," she told him, taking a step forward, "Next time, please don't interfere."

He frowned, but didn't argue with her. She turned on her heel and headed into the meeting room. She didn't bother looking back as she could hear his footsteps behind her. She was greeted by the sight of a large table and a good number of nations already sitting in their usual seats. No nation's seat had been changed to accommodate the new marriages. England took her seat between America and France, leaving Russia to take his seat alone amongst the other Slavic nations.

Ukraine was seated next to him. They said nothing to each other in greeting. Russia had stopped attempting to reconcile the past between them long ago. They had grown comfortable with the silence that occupied the space between them. He paid attention to the first five minutes of the opening speech before wandering off into his imagination. He stopped taking notes and began doodling whatever popped into his head to make it look like perhaps he was still taking those notes.

"_Congratulations_," Ukraine said quietly to him, without alerting anyone else to their conversation.

He stopped doodling and waited for her to say something else. "_You got to marry your first crush_," she said bitterly.

He didn't know where she was going to strike, and so stayed silent. "_Knowing you, you'll manage to ruin that, too. I admit that your skills of persuasion were much better than what I expected, but it was her water mains that broke her wrist, yes_?" she asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes.

He clenched his jaw and was unwilling to admit how precise her aim was. "_You are insinuating false accusations_," he warned her.

"_You do know I've been calling with her, don't you_?" she asked, now smiling slightly.

"_What for_?" he asked, returning to his doodles, but listening intently. He hadn't known that Ukraine was so keen on knowing his business or his wife. He tapped the tip of the pen harshly onto the paper. He didn't like this conversation.

"_She's my sister now. She doesn't deserve to be hurt by you. I was hoping you wouldn't ever marry, but I promised myself I would keep any new sister of ours safe from you_," she said, lightly tapping her fingers against the wood of the table.

"_She won't be hurt, and what does any of it matter to you_?" he assured her fiercely and spit the question back at her. He was ignoring the eyes his question drew.

"_She's family now, and I'm just informing you. We're all watching_," she said, shifting her eyes back to the speaker.

Russia glanced around the room at the faces of all the nations. Their faces were blank and their eyes were studying the speaker, judging his words. Not one was looking at him, but he knew that his sister was telling the truth. None of them trusted his half of their marriage. Everyone was waiting for him to make a mistake, to stumble and fail. He wouldn't let them see it happen.

"_I'll be sure to return the favor when you marry_," he said lightly, returning to doodling.

He didn't react when he saw her frown. She didn't say anything else to him. He continued to doodle and half pay attention to the speeches the other nations were making. He wouldn't be speaking until close to the end. It was his usual slot, and he was well aware that it was long after the point most nations stopped listening. He could probably give it in Russian and no one would notice he wasn't using their communal English.

He stood with everyone else as they broke for lunch. Before he could even take a step, he saw England being led away by America. The two women were followed by Canada, Australia, France, and Ukraine was even quick enough to join the group as they were leaving.

"I'm sorry," China said politely as he finished gathering his things at his own pace. Russia knew his friend was being saved a seat by his wife.

"That's not going to help us," he commented, half wanting to just push out his arm so that all of his things and papers would fall over the edge of the table.

"To them, that doesn't matter," he said as he moved towards the door, "Come on, let's go catch up."

He nodded and followed China. He remained a step behind the other nation as he led him to wherever America had decided to dine. It turned out to be a small and crowded restaurant. It was filled with chatty people wearing fashionable clothes enjoying simplistic but appetizing meals. Russia expected it to be a place America would choose to eat at, and he rolled his eyes. "Let's get our own table," China said, gesturing to a free table near where everyone else had gathered. The restaurant had accommodated the group by pushing a few tables together.

"Why?" he asked, not understanding the reasoning behind sitting by themselves.

"You don't know how this works, do you?" he asked, looking disappointed.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," he answered plainly, unashamed of ignorance of whatever China was talking about.

"Just, go with it. I'll explain later," the shorter nation said as they were lead to the empty table by a waitress, and then given menus.

They occupied a few moments of their time surreptitiously watching the other table. England was bickering away with France, and occasionally switched to America. He had forgotten how argumentative she could be as she was always so quiet and calm around him. He wished she could say so many words to him, even if they were hurtful or anger filled. She would at least be telling him something, interacting with him. Last night had been wonderful in that aspect from after the cockroach until America had butted in.

"So how is your marriage?" China asked, drawing Russia's attention away from his wife and back to him, "I know I probably should have called you, but America keeps me busy."

Russia decided it would be better if he did not ask with what. "It's been…mostly bad," he admitted.

"What exactly have you been doing?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Russia returned, leaning his forearms on the table.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "Do you do anything together? I mean, aside from living in the same house."

"Well, we went to a gala, but that didn't go very well," he said then frowned, "I took her out to dinner last night, and then America messed it up. Your wife is a nightmare."

"I don't agree with you there, seeing as I married her, but she knows what she did was wrong," China leaned around Russia to give his wife a harsh glare.

Russia turned around to see America with a confused expression before glaring at him. He returned the sentiments before turning back to their table as a waitress came to take their orders. They handed the girl their menus, and returned to their conversation when she left. "So aside from what my wife messed up, how has it been otherwise?" China asked.

"Not much," he told him bitterly, "We have an issue or two to sort out that we haven't yet, but that's about it."

"That doesn't sound too bad," he remarked frankly, "What sort of issues?"

Russia rubbed his cheek and decided to skimp on the details. He didn't particularly want to explain the whole touching thing to anyone as he was certain it would be misconstrued. "Not sure, she's just too complicated sometimes," he said before resting his chin on his hand.

"You'll figure her out eventually," China assured him, "You're good at puzzles, aren't you?"

Russia chuckled briefly at that. "But perhaps not good enough for this one," he muttered sourly afterwards.

"You just have to be patient. I recommend figuring out what upsets her first, and then not doing whatever that is," he informed him.

"Is that what you did?" he asked, resisting the urge to turn around and see his friend's wife sitting next to his.

"Yes, I think it's worked out rather well," he answered sincerely, "But I'm not going to tell you how to piss her off. That's probably one of the things."

"Probably? I thought you knew," Russia teased lightly.

"No, not everything, not yet, that comes with time," China replied, and then sighed, "Lots and lots of time."

"That sounds…awful," he said, not wanting to imagine the horror of spending so much time with America.

"That is not my opinion. Most of that time is wonderfully spent," he pointed out, "Anyways, back to your marriage. Are you happy you did it?"

"Of course," he said automatically, "Even if it's not fantastic, at least I've married her."

"So you've accomplished your goal of getting her to marry you. Now what?" he asked. Russia couldn't respond right away as the waitress returned with their food. They thanked her, and ate a few first bites of the admittedly nice, but not spectacular food before orienting back onto their earlier conversation.

"I now have to get her to like me," he answered.

"Doesn't she already?" China asked, leaning to the side to catch a glimpse of the nation in question, "She married you."

"It doesn't always seem like it," he muttered sourly, viciously stabbing the next bite of his meal with his fork.

"From what Hong Kong has told me, she didn't seem like someone who'd marry. You must have done something right to convince her to marry you. You're at least incredibly lucky if nothing else. I think you just need to let her take her time, and it'll be fine," he explained between mouthfuls, waving his fork around regardless of whether or not he'd eaten all of the food off of it.

"Take her time?" he asked, tilting his head and pausing his eating.

"Yeah, it's a lot to get used to, moving in together and all that. Me and America fought all the time after moving in together, and we were much closer than you two are," he said, looking up as he remembered the first few months of his marriage.

"We…haven't actually fought about that," Russia said, currently concerned if his marriage was just going to be wrong entirely forever.

"You haven't?" China asked, sounding genuinely surprised, "You've either done something right, or it's going to happen soon."

He ran a hand through his hair, "Why do I feel like it's going to be the latter?"

"Wait, if you're having problems with England and it's not about you moving in together, what are you having issues with?"

"I don't think she'd want me to tell you, really," he said, not sure if he even wanted China to know what had been going on between them, "She's just so frustrating."

He held back a sigh, and glanced up from his food to see that his friend was attempting to decode his words. He took that moment to turn around and steal a glance at his wife. He then added, "_And absolutely tantalizing_."

"I'm sorry, what was that last bit?" China asked, interrupting Russia's thoughts.

"It was nothing," he answered, and returned to his food. China could press all he wanted, but Russia didn't think he needed any more advice.

* * *

><p>Ah, poor Russia. One sister hates your wife, the other is giving you grief because you had the gall to get married, America is playing keep away with your wife, and your wife snapped at you when you were just trying to be helpful and protective. At least, China is trying to help you. (Btw, Ukraine hasn't forgiven Russia for the Soviet era and she's not trying to hurt their marriage but rather trying to dissuade Russia from doing anything that could hurt England with the knowledge that others will act on her behalf if he does. Just want to make that clear)<p>

And isn't tantalizing just such a great word? Yeah, the relationship is a bit one-sided but England is quite a slow burner in the emotion department. Besides, the next chapter is fluffy which I'm sure you all will love.

I've also started writing two new fem!EnglandxRussia stories and I should stop because I have other fics I need to work on. Anyways, please review! (and Happy New Year!)


	15. Chapter 15

So I meant to get this chapter up before my trip to London, but that didn't happen so you get this chapter a bit earlier than usual and perhaps two chapters in February. We're now back to England's perspective, and I have Russian in this. If you speak Russian, tell me if I've used it wrong (I know at least one of you does). I'll fix it if you tell me about it, but otherwise you're just going to flinch every time you read it this chapter and in the future.

* * *

><p>England returned to the hotel room feeling tired, but overall, relieved. Belarus had been a nuisance, as well as France and America, but it had been a fine day otherwise. She had been a little surprised that Ukraine had decided to have lunch with her and Russia hadn't. Ukraine had been calling her semi frequently since the proposal, and had engaged in actual conversation with her aside from 'how is Russia treating you', but she still hadn't expected her to tag along for lunch. America had later alerted her to the fact that Russia had been eating with China behind them. She had turned around in her seat to see him, but she supposed he had been engrossed in his conversation with China and hadn't turned to look at her.<p>

She pulled off her heels and tossed them beside her suitcase. She set her things down on the desk, and took a seat on the queen sized bed. She stayed still and silent as she enjoyed her moment of solitude without having to worry about work for the time being. Her moment of peace was broken by the opening of the hotel room's door. She looked over to the doorway, and saw Russia coming in.

"Welcome back," she greeted him.

He nodded in acknowledgement and shut the door behind him. He came into the main part of the room and set his things down beside hers. "How long have you been here?" he asked, taking off the jacket of his summer suit.

"Not too long," she answered, kicking out one of her legs that hung off the edge of the bed.

He walked towards the closet to hang up his jacket, making sure to skirt the range of England's feet. She silently watched him as he hung it up.

"We should practice your Russian tonight," he told her.

She frowned. She didn't really want to do something that involved thinking, but learning wasn't so stressful compared to the things they argued about in the meetings. "I suppose so," she said, getting up to get her laptop to retrieve at her notes on the language.

She hadn't brought the textbooks, but she assumed Russia would be able to teach her something without the books. "You don't need anything," he told her, "We'll just work on your pronunciation."

"Alright," she said, taking a seat back on the bed.

He removed his own shoes and sat down beside her. He began listing random vocabulary words she had learned recently and she repeated them back to him. He would say a single word several times over, and she would repeat it, trying to say it the exact way he did. She huffed and brushed her bangs away from her face, "I'm saying it the exact same way you are."

"No, you're not," he told her, shaking his head.

"But I am," she said, repeating the word again. He chuckled.

"I don't think you want to repeat that ever again," he informed her, his smile showing his proper amusement.

"Why, what did I do wrong?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"You stressed the wrong syllable," he told her, pronouncing the word correctly and slowly again.

"This is impossible," she murmured, rubbing her fingertips across her forehead.

"No, it's not. You just have to practice. Besides, Russian is not nearly as bad as English," he told her with a shrug.

"How so?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Cleave," he said holding up a finger, "How can you have a word that means both one thing and its opposite?"

"All of you are hung up on that word," she said rolling her eyes, "It's not that big of a deal."

Russia pulled a face, "What do you mean it's not a big deal? Isn't that against the laws of making a language?"

"Not necessarily," she answered with a shrug and a tilt of her head, "English users have been bending and flexing the language for centuries."

"Well, it's annoying in any case," he told her, "and so is the pronunciation. I swear you just make them up however you want."

"Isn't that how everyone does it?" she asked, pulling her legs up onto the bed.

"Not like you, though. Letters are usually pronounced the same way in Russian, but not in yours," he told her, "like bough. I could not figure out how to say that for the longest time. It's spelt the same way as though, but it sounds like bow the motion not the tie. Under what circumstances did this make sense to you?"

"I think it's less about it making sense and more about cheating at Scrabble," she said to him with a smirk beginning to form.

"I'm fairly certain Scrabble didn't exist when that word was made," he said.

"Well, I've won with it before, so," she returned with a shrug.

"Anyways, we're supposed to be talking about my language, not yours," he said, tapping a finger on his chest.

"Fine, then continue," she said, motioning for him to go ahead.

He said another word and she attempted to repeat it. She couldn't get past the first syllable. She repeated it several times and couldn't get it right. Russia sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "_It's not that hard_, Зайка моя (Zayka moya)*."

"What was that?" she asked, returning immediately to English. She had heard him tell her 'it's not that hard' in both Russian and English many times, but she'd never heard him say 'zayka moya'. She couldn't imagine what it looked like in the Cyrillic alphabet; let alone what it might mean.

"What was what?" he asked. She could tell he was trying to play it off like it didn't matter, but he had failed. She had caught him as he had bit down on his lips for a split second, like he shouldn't have said it.

"Those last two words," she said, leaning towards him, "What were they?"

"Which two?" he asked, acting like he was innocent.

"Zayka moya," she repeated in a near perfect imitation of what he had said, "What does it mean?"

"Of all the words to pronounce correctly," he said before trailing off, looking away with a disgruntled expression.

"Is your ear red?" England asked, leaning in even closer towards him. She knew she was smirking, but she couldn't help it.

"No," he said, immediately covering the ear with his hand.

"Well, what does it mean?" she pressed.

"Nothing," he said just a little too quickly.

"You're blushing," she said, pointing at the cheek that had been tinged pink. She thought of something wicked and placed the edge of her finger against her chin and her thumb underneath it while resting her elbow on the back of her other hand. She tilted her head and asked, "Is it something naughty, and that's why you won't tell me?"

"No," he retorted immediately, full on blushing and making a cutting motion with his hand, "Absolutely not."

"Then why blush?" she continued to press, "What do they mean?"

"They don't mean anything," he argued, crossing his arms, "and they're certainly not naughty."

"Then you should be able to tell me what they mean," she said, moving to sit up on her knees for more height.

"No, I'm not going to tell you," he refused, shaking his head.

"Please?" she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders and leaning in even closer to him, "Come on, you can tell me zayka moya."

His blush promptly darkened by several shades. "Please don't call me that," he said quietly, making sure to not look at her.

"Call you that?" she asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed and lowered his head. He rubbed the side of his face for a moment before dropping his hand into his lap. "It's a name?" she asked, feeling like that wasn't completely the correct terminology.

"No, it's a term of endearment," he admitted, looking up at her. His blush had receded somewhat, but he still looked a touch embarrassed.

"A term of endearment?" she repeated cautiously. She was a little disappointed it wasn't something more interesting, but still wanted to know what it meant. She leaned back into an upright position though she left the ends of her fingers on his shoulders, "What's it mean?"

"It means," he began before he took a moment to do what looked like he was resigning himself to his fate, and finished, "my bunny."

"My bunny?" she repeated dryly, not impressed at all.

He frowned at her, "Yes, it means my bunny."

"Interesting," she commented though she didn't mean it at all. She twisted so that her butt was back on the bed and she was facing the end of the bed with Russia on her left.

"Why are you acting like that?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"Acting like what?" she asked in return, giving him a blank look.

"So disinterested," he answered, shifting to sit closer to her, "You were…interrogating me only moments ago."

"I got my answer," she told him with a shrug.

"And?" he asked, and this time he was the one leaning closer to her.

"And what?" she asked, not sure what he wanted, but knowing she didn't want him to come too much closer.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he pressed.

"Of zayka moya?" she asked, tilting her head and trying to figure out what he was asking. He nodded. "I don't care," she told him with a shrug.

"What do you mean you don't care?" he asked, looking both confused and deflated, "I think you misunderstood. I'm asking what you think of me calling you Зайка моя (Zayka moya)*,"

"Does it matter that much what you call me?" she asked. She didn't like the term all that much as it reminded her of her childhood. She supposed she could stand it if he did call her that though.

"Yes, it does," he said seriously with a slight frown. She almost missed that smile of his. "It's a term of endearment," he said, leaning in even closer and looking her in the eye, "It's supposed show and hold my affection for you, yes? If you don't like Зайка моя (Zayka moya* I don't want to call you by it."

"Why zayka moya?" she asked, wanting a few questions answered before she gave him her final response.

"What do you mean?" he asked in response.

"There are other terms you could've used, right?" she asked and received a slow nod from him, "Why did you choose that one?"

"Because," he said before having to stop. He took a moment to fold his legs into the crisscross position then finished answering. He explained, "I though it fit you. You're small and adorable and quiet, though not always. I don't know. I like referring to you in that way. You're my wife so I didn't want to just call you England all the time. It isn't special enough."

There was some small part of England that felt like it was turning into sentimental mush, which she corralled and cornered off. He had spoken so seriously, and the way his eyes watched her and studied her reactions almost made her want to cuddle him. She didn't though. She wouldn't bring herself so close to him. Instead, she laid her right hand, as it didn't have a cast covering it, over his. He took hold of her hand immediately, but kept his attention on her face as he waited for her response.

"That's very sweet of you," she told him, watching as he still seemed to be deciphering her words, "I suppose you may call me that, but not in public."

"Why not?" he asked and she felt his grip tighten.

"I don't want anyone else to hear it," she explained, feeling her cheeks beginning to heat. She knew she was going to have to explain what she meant by that to him, and she already felt embarrassed by it.

"Why? We're already married," he responded, his confusion returned to his face.

"I know, but," she paused to think of the best way to explain her thoughts to him, "if calling me that is special to you then hearing it is special to me. I don't like public displays of affection. I find them uncomfortable."

"Fine, as you wish, Зайка моя (Zayka moya)*," he agreed, raising her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Her heart rate hiked, and she knew that her entire face had probably turned red at that point. "I didn't say for you to be more affectionate in private," she protested weakly, attempting to pull her hand away.

"But I can't be affectionate in public," he countered, pulling her hand closer and placing a second kiss on the top of her wrist.

"Let me go," she ordered him.

He released her wrist. She pulled her hand in close, holding it against her chest. He was still watching her.

"Do you normally blush that darkly?" he asked suddenly.

She felt her cheek with her right hand and it was practically burning to the touch. She got off the bed and went over to the full length mirror on the wall. Her cheeks were a few shades darker than the cherry red they usually turned to when she blushed, and the rest of her face was tinged pink. Russia appeared in the mirror behind her, his face visible above her head. "Well?" he asked, and she watched as the hand of his that was visible in the mirror was tucked into his pocket.

"No, I don't," she said, looking back at her cheeks.

"I still think it looks cute," he told her plainly. She was clearly able to see her cheeks darken further and watch as her blush spread down her neck. She heard him chuckle and saw in the mirror that he was covering his mouth with his hand. She became mad and whirled around to face him, stamping her foot, and crossing her arms.

"It's not funny!" she retorted.

"Only a little," he replied easily with a shrug. She wanted to storm off and ignore him, but she had nowhere to storm to. "I'm just teasing," he told her with a one shouldered shrug and took a half step forward, "It's only fair."

"Fair?" she asked harshly.

"Yes," he said with a smile she had seen him wear before, but she couldn't remember where. It certainly wasn't his insanity smile, and it was the sort of smile she expected to see on a fox after it had cornered a little rabbit. "You interrogated me so I get to tease you."

"Well, you've had your fun so stop," she told him irritably.

"Fine," he said as he began to walk back into the main portion of the room, "I'll stop this time."

"This time?" she repeated, watching him closely as he turned back around to her.

"Ah, you've turned red again Зайка моя (Zayka moya)*," he told her.

She turned back to the mirror and saw that he was right. She regretted giving him permission to call her that.

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><p>Translation just in case you missed it:<br>*my bunny

Anyways, we've got some sort of flirting going on this chapter. I'm sure you're all happy about that. As I said earlier, I've just gotten back from London so I've got tons of England related ideas. Some are RussUK (that's the portmanteau, yeah?), one is fem!EnglandxHenry VIII (seriously, if there's going to be fics about England and a Tudor it's gotta be Henry VIII), and one or two should be chapters added to fics I already have posted. That's that, and I hope you enjoyed.

Please review!


	16. Chapter 16

So, happy Valentine's Day everyone. Here's a chapter of Marriage.

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><p>"England!" America called out as she ran up to said nation and linked her arm through hers.<p>

"What?" England asked tiredly. America had been continually trying to endear herself to the elder nation ever since their fight. It had started to become borderline annoying.

"Come," she said dramatically as she sashayed towards the elevator while dragging England begrudgingly along with her.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they entered the elevator.

"To Hungary's and Austria's room," she said cheerfully, "It's time for you to join our married women nations group."

"You have a group?" she asked, trying to remember if she had ever heard of it before.

"Sort of, it's very unofficial," she said with a shrug, "We just get together to talk about our husbands."

"Our husbands," she repeated, wondering why they would do that. She sometimes had trouble associating Russia with husband, but then he'd do something like he did last night with the kissing and the sweet words and she'd remember. Still, what was she comfortable discussing about her husband?

"Yeah," she said with an exuberant nod, "We talk about all sorts of things, like what we do with them, what we like them to do, what we don't like them doing. That sort of stuff."

"I don't know, America," she said warily. She hadn't ever really considered this side of marriage. She didn't really want anyone knowing any part of her marriage and she was certain Russia felt the same. She certainly hoped he did.

"C'mon, it'll be fun," she cajoled, leaning against her before pulling away again.

"Fine," she snapped and then took a deep breath to calm herself, "I'll come so long as it stays appropriate."

"Yes!" America cheered and wrapped England in a quick hug. She backed off, however, when England glared at her because of the contact.

"Sorry," she said, clasping her hands behind her back.

England rolled her eyes and the elevator dinged and stopped. As they left the elevator, she sent a text off to Russia explaining the situation. She sent off a second text as they walked down the hall as she had realized that she wasn't sure how long she'd be with the girls, telling him to just go get food if he got hungry and not wait for her.

"Here we are," America announced as she tapped her knuckles on a door about halfway down the hall.

The door opened, revealing Hungary standing in the doorway. "Welcome," she greeted, gesturing for them to come in, "Glad to finally have you join, England."

She had said it cheerfully, but England replied sourly, "Yes, wonderful to be here."

America shot her a confused look before entering the room. England wouldn't bother to explain to her that Hungary didn't approve of her joining. She wasn't sure why she didn't approve, but she didn't need to know in order to read her sentiments. She followed America into the hotel room and Hungary shut the door behind her. The hotel room had the same set up as hers, but the walls were yellower, and the carpet had more green in it. There was also a platter of confectionaries and treats on the counter above the mini-fridge and one platter of vegetables and another of little sandwiches on the bed. Japan was sitting next to Canada on the bed, and they were both picking at the carrots.

"The Italies should be here soon," Hungary announced from behind England and America.

England's phone buzzed, and she pulled it out. "Let me get around you," Hungary said, tapping her shoulder and squeezing past to get around to the only arm chair in the room. America climbed onto the bed, taking a seat beside Canada.

She opened the text message from Russia. It read, "Alright. ETA?"

She sent back, "IDK."

She went back to the main screen before tucking her phone away again. She looked up to see Japan motioning for her to come to her. She walked over and sat down on the bed next to her. "Try the carrots," she suggested, "They're good."

"I'd rather not," England replied, trying not to blush as she thought of what Russia liked to call her.

"How've you been?" Japan asked demurely.

"I've been well, thank you," she replied, feeling relieved that she was here and able to talk, "How've you been?"

"Well, it's been a nice summer," she responded with her small smile.

"You're spending it at your house, yes?" she asked, trying to remember when she'd last asked Japan about her living arrangements with her husband. Only she and Russia had any sort of set schedule about when to live where.

"Yes, we decided to spend this year in my house," she answered with a nod.

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. "That'd be Romano," Hungary said, getting up from her chair and going to the door.

They heard her open the door, and then heard Romano shout, "About time!"

"Good to see you too, Romano," she responded coldly.

"Hello, Hungary," Italy greeted cheerfully, unaffected by her sister's callous attitude.

"Hello, Italy," she returned with more affection in her tone.

All three came into the main room, and America waved at them. Italy waved back, but everyone else rolled their eyes or ignored the interaction. "Is this everyone?" England asked, having envisioned a slightly larger crowd.

"Well, we usually get a few more girls, but not everyone comes all the time," Hungary said from her chair.

"I brought pasta," Italy announced cheerfully, placing the large dish she was carrying on the bed to go along with the other food.

"What about plates and forks?" England asked, noticing that the other nation had failed to bring along those items.

"I've got some," Hungary said, getting up again and rummaging around through a number of piles of things before returning with a number of paper plates and individually packaged forks.

"Great," Italy cheered before climbing onto the bed to sit with the other women. Romano grudgingly followed her up. Hungary grabbed a plate, some food, a fork, pushed her chair closer to the bed, and then sat down.

"What's the first order of business?" she asked, mimicking the formal tone Germany used during the meetings. England glanced over at Italy, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it.

"Russia taking England on a date!" America shouted a little too loudly, shooting her hand up into the air like she was in the middle of a classroom trying to get the teacher's attention.

Every head in the room turned towards England. They seemed to either be pitying her or trying to determine if what America had said was true. She had wondered why the younger nation hadn't brought up their date the day before at lunch. She scowled at her, and America deserved it for bringing up a personal manner.

"You went on a date with Russia?" Canada asked softly, thankfully toning down the tension that had spiked in the room.

"Yes, I did," she said, unable to completely erase the edge to her tone, "We're married. It shouldn't be a surprise."

"I thought you did it for political reasons, though," Hungary said slowly, and England knew she had revealed the reason she hadn't been very welcoming to her. She hadn't thought that their marriage was a real one, or at least as real as a marriage between nations could be.

"No, we didn't," she refuted, forcing her voice to be steady and even, "If I had wanted to marry for political reasons I would not have partnered with Russia."

America sniggered, and England snapped at her, "Stifle your laughter, America. It means I like him."

She stopped laughing at that, and the expression she'd adopted after England had slapped her returned. "I can't believe you like that crazy bastard," Romano said, for once not sounding harsh or judgmental but honestly in disbelief.

"Well, I do," she said, coming out of her defensive position some and now having to stave off a blush.

"Why?" Japan asked, touching her elbow lightly, "Why do you like him? That's what we all come here to talk about."

England smiled at her, feeling grateful that she was here. Then, she thought of why she liked him and couldn't say anything. He had taken her on a date and complimented her. He was teaching her his language. He had given her a beautiful gift. He had name for her, just for him to use and her to hear. He'd wrapped his arms around her and held her close, and he'd pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She choked on what to say to this group of married women.

"Well?" America asked, a challenge clear in her voice.

She wished she had her hair down instead of up in a bun so she could run her fingers though it and distract herself. "He cooks for me, actually," she said quietly, thinking it was true enough and safe enough to say out loud.

Canada and America began giggling while the rest of the women gave her strange looks. Except Japan, she had a smile on her lips and was giving England a look that made it seem like she knew she didn't really mean quite what she said.

"He cooks for you?" Romano asked, unimpressed and frowning.

"Yes, and it's bloody wonderful," she said, grateful that they weren't asking for other reasons.

"And here I thought," America said before pausing to laugh some more and get her breath back, "that food was the quickest way to a man's heart."

England rolled her eyes at the childish reaction. "It's probably very good for their marriage that she doesn't cook," Canada said after quieting her laughter, "No offense to you England, but I'm glad you like that he cooks."

"I like it when Germany cooks," Italy added in, finally stopping America's laughter, "It's a nice change, and it's really good."

"Really?" Hungary asked, "Austria acts like he would rather burn his hand off than actually cook something."

"That's because all your husband's good for is piano," Romano scoffed, "I cook every other day, but my cooking is still better than Spain's."

"Well, Australia is kind of bad at cooking, but we eat out pretty often so it isn't so bad," Canada said with a shrug and a contended smile.

"You two were really cute at lunch," England told her. They were both her former colonies and watching them enjoying each other's company always made her a little giddy. Sometimes it made her want to say 'now kiss' or tell them to get a room or squish them together in a big hug. She figured those thoughts were a bit weird, but sometimes they did kiss and she felt like that made it okay. Then, she suddenly thought that it might be wiser to just get Russia to be adorable with her, and then she focused on Canada's answer to keep from blushing.

"You always say that," she mumbled, but didn't sound cross. She sounded a little bit pleased if anything.

"It's true," America added in a sing-song-y tone.

"I think England and Russia were cute, too. At least, at their wedding," Japan said coolly, giving England only one sly glance.

"Excuse me?" America asked, rearing back, "Russia and adorable in the same sentence?"

"Yes, he's so tall compared to England," she said, putting her hands together, "The height difference is perfect."

"Gee, thanks," England commented dryly because being reminded that only Japan and the Italies were shorter than her wasn't something she really liked.

"It's not a bad thing," Japan assured her, "I'll show you the pictures."

"You took pictures of them?" Romano asked suspiciously.

"I took pictures of everyone. It's not like we weren't allowed to," she pointed out with a shrug.

"You have them on you?" England asked.

"No, they're on my computer. I'll have to send them to you. I can send them to you after we finish here," she explained and suggested.

"Do I want to see them?" she asked, partially asking herself.

"I think you'll like them," she answered with a nod.

"They're not cute," America said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"You're just jealous because China isn't taller than you," Romano said with a snicker.

"I am not," she retorted hotly.

"Anyways," Hungary said, waving her fork in a circular motion, "I think we've had enough of that."

"What do we talk about next?" Italy asked, not concerned by America's pouting.

"I dunno," Canada said with a shrug.

"Anybody want to pass the vegetables?" Hungary asked.

"Wait let me get some," England said as Italy moved towards it. She grabbed a plate, making sure to place it on her lap as she couldn't balance it well with her hand in a cast, and quickly filled it with a number of vegetables then let Italy pass it on.

"Thank you," Hungary said as she took the platter then served herself. England began to snack on her own food as the others also began to dish themselves food. The vegetables were passed back into the center of the bed.

"Where did you get these?" Canada asked Hungary after swallowing a bite of sandwich.

"I had to order them, actually, online and everything," she said with a shrug, "Grocery stores are always tiny in cities."

"And expensive," America added, finishing her own sandwich.

"At least the ordering thing worked," Italy said cheerfully even though she had only touched the pasta she had made.

England served herself some of the pasta, and quietly ate as the other women discussed the food or complimented Italy on her cooking. The pasta was delicious, and the platters were alright, but in general her opinion on food was disregarded. She almost wanted to go back to discussing their marriages to stop listening to them discussing food.

Japan placed a hand on her arm, and she looked over to her friend. "Are you alright?" she asked, "You look annoyed."

"I'm fine," she assured her, not surprised that she could guess how she was feeling.

"We can leave if you want," she suggested, "They won't mind, and I usually leave early anyways."

England glanced over to the others. Romano was arguing with Canada over the sandwiches. Canada was trying to defend them and Hungary for getting them, while Romano denounced them entirely. America, Hungary, and Italy weren't paying attention to anyone else and discussing types of pasta.

"We haven't even been here that long though," England argued, feeling like leaving would be rude.

"You've been here for about an hour. We haven't really done much, but we don't really do much anyways," she said with a shrug and a light smile.

"Alright, if you want to," she agreed with a nod.

"We'll be leaving," Japan announced to the group, "England and I have some business to take care of. We'll see you all later."

"Alright, we'll see you tomorrow then," Hungary responded.

The others said goodbye even America, though she did look a little disappointed to see England leaving. They threw out their forks and plates and left the room. "Why do you bother going to those meetings if you don't even stay for that long?" England asked once the door had closed.

"I mostly go now just in case something happens to any of us because it really was helpful after I first got married," she explained with a shrug.

They began to walk down the hall slowly, side by side and barely inches apart. "Why? I thought you and Greece had always got on well," she said, wondering if somehow she'd missed something during that time.

"We did and we do," she said with a nod, "but when we got married only America and China, the Italies, Spain, and Germany had married before us. None of us were really sure that it would work out at all. America started the meetings, and it was good to hear that others had the same problems and discuss how to fix them. We've moved on from that, but it was nice to have some solidarity in the beginning."

"I can see that," she said, wringing her fingers and feeling nervous about discussing this. She was having issues with Russia and their marriage, but she didn't really want group therapy for them. She also didn't want America with her bias knowing about them.

"Do you want to talk about anything?" she asked quietly, in her usual kind and understated manner.

"I-," she began, but choked. She wanted to say yes, but couldn't talk. She closed her mouth and swallowed, looking down at the floor. She took a deep breath in, "I don't know what to say."

"Has something happened? Did something go wrong?" she asked, coming around and facing her and putting her hands on her arms.

"No, not really, I'm just-," she had to take a steadying breath, "I'm very afraid that something will."

"Why?" she asked, "Has he done something?"

"Yes and no," she said, picking at the band that held up her hair bun to calm herself, "We've had a fight, but we didn't really fix anything. Do you, um, have any words of wisdom about that?"

"Everyone's relationship is going to be different, but the not fixing things is worse than the fighting. Everyone's going to have fights with people. Look at how many fights you've had with France and America. Just talk to him, a lot, all the time," she said, rubbing her hands over her arms a little.

"All the time?" she asked, nearly squeaking. It was hard enough sometimes for her to talk to him the few times she did now.

"You need to talk to him if you want it to get better," she reminded her gently, "That's how diplomacy works and that's how relationships work."

"Alright," she said weakly.

"I try to talk to Greece every day. I didn't use to, and sometimes it was hard to because of his sleeping habits. Then, we started arguing and I didn't like it so we forced ourselves to talk it out. It got better after that. I know you don't really like talking about serious emotional topics, but you both need to know those things about each other," she said, making sure to look her in the eye to impress the sincerity and seriousness of her words upon her.

"I know, and we have talked a little," she said, feeling a little crushed at the thought of having to open up to Russia.

"Then, just keep doing it, a little at a time," she told her soothingly.

"Alright," she said with a nod, not sure if she'd actually go through with it.

"Talking with him isn't going to hurt you England," she assured her, running a hand down her arm.

"If you say so," she said blankly.

Japan sighed, removed her hands, and took a step back. "Do you want me to take you to Portugal?" she asked.

"You know where she's staying?" she asked, brightening at the thought of getting a chance to see and talk to her oldest and best friend. She hadn't checked with her to ask where she was staying.

"Yes, she told me to tell you when I saw you because you hadn't asked her yesterday or today," she said.

"Oh," she said, "Well, yes, if you could show me where she's staying, I'd appreciate it. I'd like very much to see her."

"Alright, she's down a few flights," she said, gesturing for her to follow her. They remained silent on the way there, Japan allowing England time and space to be with her thoughts. She was grateful for it.

"This is her room," Japan said, gesturing to the door once they'd reached it.

"Thank you, Japan," she told her sincerely before knocking on the door.

"You're welcome," she said with a smile, "I'll just leave you two."

The door opened as she turned to leave. England turned to the door way to see Portugal dressed down, having changed at some point from the suit she'd worn at the meeting. She looked quite like Spain, but she was only two inches taller than England, had an entirely different nose, and straighter hair. "Hey," she greeted cheerfully, hugging her immediately, "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"I know, I'm sorry," she replied, returning her hug.

"It's fine. Come on in, and we'll catch up," she said, pulling away and guiding her into the room. England texted Russia to let him know where she was as the door was shut behind her. She tucked away her phone and spent several hours just talking with Portugal, drifting from one topic to the next. Eventually, they had to stop; but England left feeling better than she had when she arrived. She returned to her hotel room to find Russia asleep. She readied herself for bed and joined him in slumber.

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><p>No Russia, but England gets to think out her relationship with him and talk with her friends about it. In case anyone doesn't know, Portugal and England have been allies since the 1373, so at this point they'd have been allies for around 900 years. I think they'd be very good friends at that point.<p>

In other RussUK news, I'm continually disappointed by the fact that I'm not finding any new stories about them, but I'm going to add chapter 17 to this story by the end of the month. Also, at some point, I'm going to add a third chapter to Psychobabble and possibly a second chapter to A Fluffy Cat and a Russian Man. KorosuKa is going to post another story that's fem!EnglandxRussia at some point. That's all I know so far.

Please review!


	17. Chapter 17

Alright, this chapter is a little bit shorter than last week's, but it's in Russia's pov to make up for him not being in the chapter last week, I guess (he was playing poker with China, Germany, and France in the back of the hotel bar without any stakes...except not really). Enjoy!

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><p>Suddenly, England was on her feet and shouting in indignation and making a rude gesture towards France. She turned sharply from him and stormed from the room, her heels clicking resoundingly against the marble floor. She slammed the door behind herself.<p>

Every other nation left in the room turned to look at Russia. He glared back at them and told them, "Don't look at me."

"You're the one who married her," America pointed out, astutely for once. No one ever wanted to deal with an angry England, and he was unluckily in the prime position for being forced into dealing with her.

"I'm not going to go out there and have her get mad at me. You're not the one who has to sleep with her," he told her, crumpling up a paper into a ball and throwing it at her head. It hit her just above the eye, "Feel free to do it yourself."

"Ow, you just hit me with a ball of paper," she said, glaring at him and holding up the paper ball threateningly.

"If you didn't want to get hit, then you should have ducked," he told her slowly, the way he would speak to a child.

America opened her mouth to speak, but Germany held up a hand, "America, don't respond to him. Russia, go and bring England back."

"Fine," he said, standing from his chair and walking towards the door, "_But I'm killing you all if I don't get a good night's sleep_."

He had to admit though, that America did have a point. He had married her, had husbandly duties to her, one of which was making and keeping her happy. He didn't know what exactly made her happy, but he had to learn. It was probably just as important as China's advice of figuring out what made her mad. He had a better understanding of the latter requirement as it definitely included everyone and everything under certain circumstances. He heard her heels as she descended the stairs and followed her down.

"Go away," she told him irritably as she heard him approaching.

He hesitated a moment as he tried to figure out what to say to her. Several options sped through his head and he didn't know which one to pick, and chanced it. "Can I stay if I promise not to do whatever France did?"

She stopped and turned around, wearing an expression that made it look like someone had tried to feed her a lemon. "Nice try, but no," she told him coldly and narrowed her eyes.

She turned around and continued to march down the stairs. "Why not?" he asked, easily able to catch up to her.

"You're only here because of Germany. Just go back and tell him I'm not coming," she told him, flicking her hand back in the direction of the meeting room.

She had hit the mark, but he figured he probably shouldn't tell her that. "Well, I thought I wouldn't come in case you got mad at me and decided to kick me out of bed later, but then I decided it was worth the risk."

He caught a short, quiet chuckle at that. "Fine," she said, looking up at him with a hint of a smile, "you can come along then."

"Come along?" he asked, surprised and not sure what she was suggesting, "Shouldn't we be going back?"

"What? Why would we go back?" she asked, shaking her head, "I'm not going back until lunch is over."

"Then what are we going to do?" he asked, not entirely certain he wanted to hear her answer.

"You don't skip meetings, do you?" she asked with slight disappointment in her expression and rolled her eyes, "Now, you really have to come along before you turn into Germany."

"What do you mean?" he asked, following behind her as she continued down the stairs with a lightened gait, "turn into Germany?"

"It's when you become an anal-retentive workaholic. I can't be married to someone like that," she told him.

"Then what are you?" he asked, feeling a little excited at the chance to have another proper conversation with her and learn more about her.

"I'm a workaholic, but only from eight to six Monday through Friday. I can't do anything more than that unless it's really serious," she informed him, surprisingly open at the moment, and then added dryly, "I also tend not to work too seriously when Frenchmen or Americans are involved."

"That makes sense," he told her.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I suppose I'm more like Germany than you'd like me to be," he said with a shrug before tucking his hands into his pockets, "I spend most of my time working."

"Really?" she asked, looking up at him with confusion on her face, "It doesn't seem like it."

"I've been working less since you've moved in," he admitted, thinking of the hours per week he had lost in the past two months.

"It's probably a good thing," she said definitively and with a nod.

"Where are we going?" he asked as they stepped outside. The air conditioning had been turned on inside of the building and it felt uncomfortable to walk into the humid outdoor air.

"To find a pack of cigarettes," she said brazenly, taking longer and firmer steps than she usually did causing her heels to clack even on the pavement.

"Really?" he asked. He couldn't recall seeing her smoke recently, and he only smoked during wartime. He had never thought it very beneficial, but it had become a habit.

"Yes," she answered as she turned a corner, almost cutting him off. He had no idea where she was going. He wasn't sure if there were any places that sold tobacco products anymore. They had certainly gone out of style, and few if any people still smoked.

"May I ask why?" he said, beginning to feel uncomfortable with having left the meeting. He knew his boss would find out. He also didn't like having to keep behind her for no other reason than feeling he couldn't walk properly and with purpose. He felt like a meandering tourist, and it wasn't pleasant.

"To relax," she said with a shrug, looking back over her shoulder at him with a hint of a smirk.

"You do know they can't actually relax you?" he asked lightly.

"And?" she asked in return, pausing for a moment before turning to hit the button for the light to cross on the pole to her right.

"Why not get something that's actually relaxing?" he asked, joining her at the edge of the curb.

"Because I want a cigarette," she said simply.

"Alright, so," he said, following her across the street, "do you know where to find cigarettes."

"Nope," she answered.

"So we're doing exactly what I did to find ice cream?" he asked, remembering that she hadn't liked wandering about to find a place.

"It's not exactly like you can just google stores that sell cigarettes," she said, "I've tried."

"Which probably means you should stop looking for them," he suggested gently.

She shot him a look that was only a degree off from being a glare, "Why would I do that? It's not like they can kill me."

"It's," he said, but paused mid-sentence to follow her into a small convenience store she had abruptly turned into, "the principle of it."

"Oh, great, they have good brands," she announced, entirely ignoring his earlier statement. He glanced over at the display behind the counter. He recognized a number of the brands, but he didn't see an employee anywhere.

A man came out, speaking to them in a language Russia didn't understand. "Do you speak English?" England asked him immediately.

"Yes," he answered with a thick but understandable accent, "What do you want?"

"I'd like to buy a pack of cigarettes," she said, pointing at the brand she wanted.

"Are you eighteen?" he asked as he went behind the counter.

"Yes, of course," she said, fumbling around in her purse as she was trying to pull out her license one-handedly. She handed it out to him eventually, and he took it and studied it.

"I think it is fake," he said with a frown, holding it up to the light to judge it better.

"I'll buy them then," Russia intervened, pulling out his license. The man handed England back her license and took his. He only glanced at it before nodding and pulling down a pack. He paid, took the pack, and they left.

"What was that all about?" she asked, reaching for the pack.

He raised it high above her reach, "You're not getting one until I do. I paid for them."

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms though patiently waiting.

He pulled one cigarette from the pack then offered her the box. "Do you have a lighter on you?" he asked.

"Yep," she answered, beginning to clumsily dig around in her purse. After a moment, she pulled out a square, red, metallic lighter and passed it over to him. He lit his cigarette while he tried to remember the last time he had smoked. He could remember smoking, but not when. The first inhale was almost too much, but he forced himself to breathe regularly. Within ten paces, they were both smoking with the lighter tucked away again.

"That's the only good thing about purses," she said, pulling her cigarette away from her mouth, "You can stick everything in them."

"Feeling better?" he asked, hoping she was so that skipping the meeting was worth it.

"Yes," she said then narrowed her eyes, "except that I don't like that he called my ID fake."

"Can I see it?" he asked, holding out his hand. She pulled it out again, doing a better job of it this time, and placed it in his hand.

He scanned it, taking note of the fake name she'd chosen for herself, and began calculating her age from the date on the card. "Twenty six?" he asked, "You don't look old enough to be twenty six. I'm only twenty four on mine."

He pulled out his license to prove it to her. She took it from him and read it, letting him study hers for a moment longer. "Well, this looks like a mess, and that is a terrible picture of you," she commented as she deciphered the Cyrillic letters on it.

"It is," he admitted with a shrug, "and you're very grumpy in yours."

"By the way, Ivan," she said, flashing him a little smirk when she said his fake human name, "What makes you think I look too young for twenty six?"

"Well, Carolyn, you're too short," he answered simply then reread her card, "and why Carolyn?"

"What do you mean too short? I've been this height for, I don't know, at least five hundred years. I'm not about to get any taller," she answered, frustration clear in her tone, "What's wrong with Carolyn? Why Ivan?"

"It's not Nikita. It gets more respect outside of Russian speakers," he answered, "It doesn't matter how tall you've been, you're just not tall enough for now."

"Nikita does sound like a girl's name," she said, musing for a moment before returning to the other topic of the conversation, "What do you mean for now? My height is still about average for women."

"About is not the same. Besides, height is too linked to age. To be old you must be tall, or grey and wrinkly," he explained with a shrug, following her as she turned right onto a different street, "I look young in the face, more than you even, but it doesn't matter because I'm tall. So why Carolyn?"

"I see your point with the height, but it doesn't mean I have to like it," she warned him, pointing at him with her lit cigarette, "I like Carolyn. I couldn't think of anything else at the time."

"Fair enough," he said, letting both halves of the conversation end there.

They were silent for several moments. They continued to walk through unfamiliar streets, receiving disapproving glares from most of the people around them. England didn't seem to mind, and she seemed to be rather enjoying her cigarette. He was just waiting for a chance to throw his away. He had personally lost any appeal for the things and was questioning why he had decided to take one in the first place.

"Where are we going next?" he asked eventually. He finally found trash can and stubbed his cigarette out and threw it away. She didn't comment on it.

"Lunch, I suppose. Where do you want to eat?" she asked, letting him draw even with her.

He glanced down at her license, wondering if they were going to trade back. "Why Arthur, for your middle name?" he asked, noticing the peculiarity of the male name tucked after her female one.

She blinked at him. "Really?" she asked, moving away from him slightly.

"Yes," he answered, wondering what the problem was.

"Alright, that is the stupidest question I have ever heard," she said frankly, sucking in a deep breath of smoke.

"What?" he asked, not sure what was so wrong in asking the question.

"Do you seriously not know Arthurian legend?" she asked, looking confused.

"What's Arthurian legend?" he asked, starting think he'd upset her.

"It's," she gave a short almost hiccup of a laugh and waved her cigarette away, "nothing."

"But you named yourself after it," he pointed out.

"Not it, him, _him_," she said, sounding angry and jabbing her cigarette in his direction, "Arthur, King Arthur. You named yourself after your king, Arthur is mine."

"I didn't know you had a king named Arthur," he said, though he wasn't quite that familiar with her royal line.

"He wasn't exactly King of England or the United Kingdom. He was King of Camelot," she said, "How do you not know this, any of it?"

"I just haven't heard of it," he said with a shrug.

"So you don't know Merlin? The Knights of the Round Table? Lancelot? Guinevere? Morgan le Fay? Mordred? The Quest for the Holy Grail? Excalibur? The Sword in the Stone?" she asked, staring at him in disbelief.

"No, except for maybe the sword in the stone," he answered, backing away from her subtly.

"That's it?" she asked, her anger having drained away, "You know nothing about it?"

He shook his head, not liking the way she was staring up at him in disbelief.

"I can't believe," she trailed off and shook her head, "France knows it and he won't even touch my literature without gloves and a clothespin over his nose."

He had trouble pretending that that comment didn't sting. He knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of France for knowing her better, but he felt it anyways. "Then tell me it," he blurted.

"What?" she asked, flicking her cigarette butt into the nearest trash can.

"Tell me the legend," he told her, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"You want me to tell you the story?" she asked, beginning to smile coyly at him.

"Yes, I'd like to hear it, since you consider it so important," he replied, thinking that this could be good.

"Let's go to a café or something so we can sit down," she told him, looking excitedly around them for such a place, "It's a rather long story."

He nodded, and they began their search. She led him down the street and into a half filled café with soft lights and dark wood furniture. They order drinks and took seats at a table in the corner. She took a sip of her Earl Grey tea and commenced her story telling with King Uther and Igraine. She spoke incessantly and animatedly. She let him ask questions and answered them while managing to keep her pace without damaging the flow of her words. He liked the story, a noble and kind king, courtly love, scandals, magic, powerful swords, quests, and battles. He liked her telling it to him more though.

She was so exuberant when she reached the exciting parts, sitting up straight and grinning fully. She blushed when she recited the romance, staring mostly into her tea only to glance at him and hide her smile behind her cup. She let an eyebrow rise whenever characters schemed and smirked as she retold intense discussions. She stared off morosely during the sad scenes, sighing almost between paragraphs and making him want to hold her close. He wasn't sure how long they sat in the corner, sheltered from the other customers by the blanket of England's voice, but he found he didn't care.

When she finished, she released a deep breath, placed her hands on her thighs, and looked over at him with a shy smile. "Well?" she asked.

"I liked it," he told her, sitting up straight from resting his arms on the table.

"Good," she said, sounding and looking pleased.

"And that's why your middle name is Arthur?" he asked.

"Yeah, basically," she answered, brushing her bangs back towards her ear.

"Maybe once you learn Russian, I can tell you stories about Baba Yaga," he said, wondering if she'd like that and if he could tell them as well as she had told him about King Arthur.

"I know a little about Baba Yaga," she said.

"I can tell you more," he promised her.

"Actually, I'd, um," she paused, scratching at the edge of her cast and blushing, and he was intrigued, barely catching her quietly mumble, "I'd rather hear your poetry."

"What was that?" he asked, leaning in closer to her.

"I'd like to learn about Russian poetry," she said, only a little louder than previously. He knew it wasn't what she had said originally, but decided there were better ways to tease her into a darker blush.

"You'd like to hear Russian poetry?" he asked, smiling at her and almost touching his shoulder to hers, "I can…recite to you all the poems about love and beautiful women, да (da)?"

"Don't do that," she scolded him, glaring at him as her blushed darkened.

He chuckled lightly and leaned over to whisper into her ear, "You're blushing, Зайка моя (Zayka moya)."

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><p>Russia knows how to do it. Anyways...<p>

I think smoking doesn't really do much to nations, but soldiers are notorious smokers so I think they'd all turn into smoke stacks during wartime. This is not a promotion to smoke, by the way. England is a bad role model.

On RussUK news, I've put up the third chapter to Psychobabble which has official fem!EnglandxRussia (sort of). I put up a one shot titled Snow Fall which is fem!Englandxfem!Russia. KorosuKa has put up a couple chapters to her new story Paw Prints on His Heart, which is eventual fem!EnglandxRussia. I haven't seen anything else put up, but I should have up ch 4 to Preparation sometime soon. I also haven't started writing ch 18 to this story so I guess you might have to wait for its one year anniversary for the next update.

Please Review!


	18. Chapter 18

Alright, so this is kind of really short and there's minimal amounts of Russia, but hey it's a chapter. This is actually the second chapter 18 that I've made because I tried something else for this chapter and it came out really badly. Enjoy the chapter!

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><p>"Ma chère," France said as everyone was collecting their things and readying to leave, "We need to talk."<p>

"I don't want to talk," she told him, continuing to pack up.

"As true as that may be," he said with a sigh, "You know we do have talk."

"I know," she responded, stopping her packing.

She looked around for Russia. He was a number of feet away, walking for the exit. He looked towards her, and she gestured to France. He nodded and continued on. The nations had set up an easy standard of 'I'm going to be talking to them', and England couldn't begin to say how convenient it was. She pulled out her chair again and faced it towards France. She sat down across from him and crossed her legs. "What?" she asked.

"I wanted to apologize," he said.

"What for, exactly?" she asked, thinking of many things she'd like him to apologize for.

"For two days ago, when I made you storm off," he said then paused and straightened his tie, "and for what I said to you at your wedding. I'm mostly only regretful of the second one. It was your wedding day, it was your choice, and I shouldn't have said those things to you. I cannot take those words back, but I am sorry for insulting your husband and your choices."

"I wasn't expecting that," she admitted and shrugged, "but I forgive you so long as you promise to never do it again."

"I promise," he said immediately with a smile.

"I would also like to apologize for what I said to you in response. I promise to never do that again as well," she told him sincerely.

"I accept your apology," he said with a gracious nod.

"Think it will last a week this time?" she asked with a smirk. They both knew they never kept their promises to each other. For whatever reason, it was easier for them to ask forgiveness than to not commit any grievances. It was exhausting, but they never stopped doing it.

"Would it be too bizarre to suggest that horrible cliché of Russia making you into a better and nicer person?" he asked teasingly, leaning forward in his chair.

"Yes, you implied that he'd murder me at our wedding," she said, tapping her toe against his shin.

"Well, in my defense, it's not like you can really die," he shrugged.

"Doesn't mean it wouldn't be painful," she pointed out.

"Then maybe you'll be the one to make him into a better and nicer person," he said, gesturing towards her.

"Ha," she said with a snort, "that's rich."

"If that's so, what did you marry him for?" he asked, putting his finger tips together and pulling on a pensive face, "You're not trying to make each other better, you're not close enough to actually be in love, and I'm pretty sure you're not having sex or wanting each other for money."

She gave him a sharp look, wanting him to stop before he touched a subject she didn't want to discuss. He knew her to well for that, and she knew he hit the right tracks when he laced his fingers together. "You didn't actually marry him because you were lonely, like I said?" he asked.

"What do you want me to tell you?" she returned with a scowl and crossed her arms.

"Why?" he asked.

"We were two lonely people who decided that maybe we could be happy together," she replied, her tone soured by the fact that they were talking about it at all.

"And what of the rest of us lonely unmarried nations?" he asked cryptically, leaning back into his chair.

"Find someone who thinks you're worth the risk for happiness?" she asked in return, waving her arm out in a gesture of uncertainty.

"You thought Russia was most worthy?" he questioned, shifting his shoulders and crossing his arms.

"It made sense at the time," she answered with a shrug, not sure what else she could add to that, "I've yet to really regret the decision."

"What if you're wrong?" he asked, tone firm enough to drive the question in deep.

Honestly, she had been avoiding the question since he'd proposed. Every time she had found herself thinking of it, she'd shaken her head and locked it away again as if it weren't a shadow that seeped through the cracks. Regardless of how little time she'd actually spent thinking about the question and how long she'd been avoiding it, she had an instinctive answer. "Then I'm wrong," she said, holding her head high.

He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "Would you like any advice?" he asked, giving her a hopeful look, "I can't give you anything specific to Russia, but it might help."

"Why would I want your advice?" she narrowed her eyes at him, "You're neither married nor have anything to gain from my success."

"I have less to gain from your failure," he shrugged, "I'm also the nation of love. Have a little trust."

"I have little," she said acerbically, giving him a wan smile.

"I'm very aware," he said with a wry grin and flicked his wrist to readjust his watch. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. It was nice of him to offer his help, but she was balking at talking about her marriage.

"England?"

"Yes?" she said as she looked back at him.

"How are you and Russia?" he asked seriously, making sure to watch her eyes, "Please, tell me the truth."

"I really don't want to talk about this, France," she said, hoping he'd understand but knowing he was likely to continue anyways.

"Then you probably really have to talk about it," he pointed out, giving her a look that was meant to be encourage.

"Japan said the same thing, and I did talk to Portugal about it," she said grumpily.

"Oh? What did Portugal say?" he asked.

"She didn't really have much advice to give," she said with a shrug, "It was helpful though."

"Don't you think it'd be just as helpful to talk to Russia about it?" he suggested.

"Maybe, but I don't know," she shrugged, "It's not the same talking to Russia."

"Well, it's not going to fix itself," he said, pointing a finger at her, "You're not even talking to me about so I can't help you at all."

"I don't need your help," she retorted, looking away and setting her jaw.

"Maybe if you talked about it more it'd be easier to talk about it with Russia," he said, ignoring her attitude.

"I'd still be talking to Russia though," she huffed, feeling her shoulders tensing from thinking about it.

"Is this a problem with talking to him, or talking about this with him?" he asked then shook his head and waved his hand, "No, it's definitely you avoiding the problem. You do that."

"I had no idea," she said sarcastically.

"At least you're aware," he announced cheerfully, "You do talk to him otherwise though, right?"

"Yeah, I told him about King Arthur yesterday," she said, letting that moment between her husband and her out, wanting to share it.

"Is that what you did while you were gone all that time?" he asked, looking surprised.

"A good portion of it," she answered with a nod, feeling pleased.

"That's good, yes? Did he like it?" he asked, leaning towards her again.

"Yeah, he said he did," she said shyly. She remembered how relieved she'd been when he'd said he'd liked it. She was unspeakably pleased that he liked something so important to her, and she was looking forward to whatever poetry he'd show her. It eased some of her worries.

"Did he say if his favorite character was Lancelot?" France asked.

"No," she told him, "his favorite character is not going to be Lancelot."

"Ah, you haven't asked him yet. How do you know it's not going to be Lancelot?" he asked, tapping his chin.

"I said so," she said, finishing with a quick smile.

"Actually," France said, shifting in his seat and in his tone, "this might be a good idea."

"What's a good idea?" she asked, lost on what his idea could be.

"Maybe you should tell each other about your literature. You could learn a lot about each other that way and talk to each other and not be so, well, you when talking to each other," he suggesting, laying out his ideas with his hands.

"Not be so me when talking? What does that even mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and scouting out for insults.

"You're not very good at talking things out, chère," he told her gently, "You don't always say what you mean and you can be very biting with the sarcasm. You're very good at pointing out faults and getting people to look at problems, but that's only half of it. Maybe it's best if you write him a letter instead of talking to him about this thing."

"That last bit has merit," she said, taking it into consideration.

"Anything else you'd like to tell me so maybe I could get a better idea?" he asked, a smile beginning to turn up the corner of his lips.

"Nope, you can go back to worrying about your own love life," she said, standing up.

"You are alright though, living with Russia?" he asked, getting to his feet as well.

"Yes, he's not as bad as America makes him out to be," England said, feeling confident of her assessment of Russia and their situation together. She kept learning more and more that gave her less and less reason to take stock in what America said.

"Be that as it may," he said before suddenly fixing her with a serious look, "America has reasons to believe those things about Russia. Give her words some credit. They don't need to come true."

"Are you trying to show compassion or something?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she gathered the last of her things.

"I assure, it is very difficult and pains me greatly," he said, placing a hand against his chest.

"Good," she told him pointedly as she began to walk away.

"Bonne chance, England," he said as she lengthened the distance between them.

"Goodbye, France," she returned just before leaving the room.

She walked quickly, trying to keep her thoughts locked away. The shadows seeped from the keyhole and she wondered how much credit she should give America's words. Russia was dangerous, but so was she and every other nation. Why was he so much worse?

She hailed a taxi back to the hotel. After giving the address to the driver, she was again alone with her thoughts. She wasn't afraid of being physically hurt, she decided. The danger was in him touching her gently. She had boundaries for a reason, and perhaps she was letting him through too many. Her head was beginning to ache, and she massaged her brow line. She didn't want to deal with it. He stopped when she asked, but he had promised more. Did she want more as well?

She left and paid the taxi driver, feeling that it would be better if he just didn't touch her. It would be easier, but she'd have to tell him to stop. She rode the elevator up planning on when the best time to ask him to stop would be. She didn't decide on a definite time by the time she reached the door and thought she would improvise as she unlocked the door with her key card.

She entered the hotel room to find Russia working at his desk, typing away on his laptop. "Welcome back," he greeted her with a small smile.

She didn't ask him to stop that night.

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><p>Translation:<br>Ma chère - My dear  
>Bonne chance - good luck<p>

So, I think this chapter is pretty self explanatory. I haven't seen any new fem!EnglandxRussia stories, but I turned "Snow Fall" into my one shot dump. This story has been up for about a year now, and I've surpassed my own expectations for it. I thought I'd only have 13 chapters up at best and maybe a few reviews, but I have 18 chapters up and nearly a hundred reviews. I'd say this turned out pretty well. I still have a lot farther to go story wise though. I don't really have an ending yet even. You guys'll have to stick around for a lot longer I guess.

Hope you enjoyed it, please review!


	19. Chapter 19

Surprise extra chapter! I got this done earlier than I thought I would, so two chapters this month. Please enjoy!

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><p>It was the last day of the meetings, and after the closing of their last session. England was grabbing tea before leaving for the hotel. Russia was talking with China and the Batlic Nations. As she finished preparing her tea, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, and she felt like her heart had jumped in her chest.<p>

Belarus had tapped her on the shoulder and was giving her a level stare. "I must speak with you," she said firmly.

"You're not going to attack me as soon as we're away from the others, are you?" she asked, looking pointedly towards Russia so she'd know exactly who she meant by others.

"No, brother has told me not to hurt you," she said, "but I can still speak with you."

"Very well," England said with a gracious nod, "lead the way."

Belarus guided her through the building to a left over meeting room. It was small, tiny in comparison to the main room all the nations used. It was only big enough for a table that sat five. Belarus gestured for her to take her pick of the seats. She sat down at the one nearest the exit. She set down her tea and waited for Belarus to take her seat.

"What is it that you wish to talk about?" she asked as soon as she had taken her seat.

"I wish to apologize for my actions at the beginning of the week," she said, clasping her hands together but holding England's gaze, "I was very angry that you married my brother, and even more so that you kept me from the wedding."

"He made that decision as well, you know," she reminded her sister in-law before taking a sip of her tea.

"I know my brother does not always like my…advances, but I should have been allowed to the wedding," she said, gritting her teeth when she finished. She was still angry, but trying very hard to overcome it.

"I can only suggest you let that go," she said, not adding that her wedding had been trying enough for her without Belarus's presence there. She wasn't sure what she would have done had she been there.

"You should not have married my brother," she said, her tone icy.

"And why is that?" she asked dryly. It seemed that practically everyone had offered her at least one reason not to, what was one more?

"You could hurt him,"

England raised an eyebrow. She had to admit, that was a new one.

"I understand him," she continued, laying a hand on her chest, "I can keep him safe. We should stay together, with our sister."

England took a sip of her tea before replying, "Have you thought that perhaps your brother isn't looking for safety?"

She frowned, "Why would he choose you over safety?"

"I don't know," she said quietly, thinking that she had chosen him over safety as well, "You have to ask him."

"But I'm the best option," she muttered, her anger appearing again as she clenched her fists. England was beginning to see that some of her anger was stemming from frustration. She didn't understand why her brother had married.

"Do you listen to him?" England asked suddenly, "When you ask him a question like 'why did you marry her', do you listen to what he says?"

"Of course, he's my brother," she said with a nod, determination set in her features.

"You also said you understand him?" she asked, having found a trail.

"Absolutely," she answered confidently with another nod.

"Then why haven't you figured out why he's married me?" she asked, giving her a disappointed look and feeling like she'd had a similar conversation before, "If you listen to his answers, his opinions, his wants and needs, why can't you understand his decision? What makes you think you're best for him when he doesn't agree and you don't understand why?"

England had just gained a little insight on Russia. He had kept telling his sister no as gently as he could, not wanting to lose her, but she never listened, never took his word. He then came to England, hoping she would listen to him. She also noted that he'd been listening to her.

Belarus said nothing, crossing her arms and wearing a perturbed face similar to the one she'd seen Russia wear. They were both silent for several moments. "If you're so angry, why did you want to go to the wedding?" England asked, feeling a bit exasperated.

"I wanted to see him wed," she said, her tone clipped, "I wanted to at least see if he was happy."

"He was mostly nervous," she recalled aloud before really thinking about it, "but I believe he was happy."

"Fine," she said, stubbornness entering her tone again, "I will let him go, but you mustn't hurt him."

"I have no intention of hurting Russia," she said, "I also don't intend to hurt you."

Belarus glared at her. "We didn't want you at the wedding because we weren't sure how you would react. What you did at the beginning of the week confirmed every reason we had for not wanting you to be there. I'm not going to estrange you, Belarus. That's not my place," she paused for a moment, evaluating the risk, then continued, "but you should try being his sister."

England couldn't tell if she flinched or twitched at that. "Why?" she asked harshly.

"I hope he'll extend the same courtesy to my siblings," she said then took another sip of her tea, "We shouldn't have to feel like our siblings are threats."

She looked away for a moment then she said, "I understand. I won't make my mistake again."

She stood to leave. "Thank you, Belarus," England said, "I accept your apology."

Belarus left without acknowledging her words. England sighed. She remained in the room and took a few more sips of her tea before getting up to leave. The main room had emptied, only a few nations remained. Russia wasn't there. She threw her recyclable cup into the bin for recycling and headed out onto the street.

She decided to walk back to the hotel. She needed time to think about whether or not to tell Russia that she'd talked to his sister. They hadn't talked about her much. She wasn't sure how he would react.

She was going to tell him, she decided, and hope that he'd take it well. Belarus they could talk about, and they would have to sooner or later anyways. Walking back felt as stressful as it had felt walking up to his door when she had been moving in. She stretched out her free hand as much as she could with the cast and took deep breaths to try and relax. She was picking her wording as she arrived at the hotel and rode the elevator up.

She opened the door to her room, and found Russia inside, working again. "There you are," he said, looking up at her as he asked, "Where were you?"

She bit her lower lip then answered, "I was talking to Belarus."

"You talked to Belarus?" he asked, his tone serious.

"Yes, she apologized for what she did," she said, setting her things on the end of the bed, "She's very upset we didn't let her into our wedding."

"I knew she would be," he said, beginning to click out of what he was doing.

"Then why did you decide to keep her away?" she asked, running the tips of her fingers over her forehead. She was going to have a headache soon. She turned around to face Russia, and she saw that he had turned to face her.

"I didn't want her to do what she did earlier this week," he said lightly, then gave her a once over and his tone hardened, "She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"No, I told you. We just talked," she said, sitting down on the bed and placing her hands on her lap.

"Did…something else happen?" he asked, watching her carefully. He wanted to know why she was telling him anything.

She picked at her fingernails out of nervousness. She both wanted to spit her words out, and lie and tell him nothing else. "She, um," she began, trying to remember the words she'd picked and breathe properly, "she said she wanted to marry you to protect you, and I told her that I don't intend to hurt you or…or her."

She started pulling out the bobby pins she'd used to hold up her bun, thinking it was so much easier to talk about nothing with him. "Why?" he asked, confusion in his tone, "She attacked you, and you've never been close or friendly."

"She's my sister in-law now. We both have siblings, and we're the first ones out of any of them to be married. I don't want," she paused as she lost her hold on the pin she was trying to pull out, "I don't want them to be a problem. At least, not any more of one than they are usually."

"So you started with Belarus?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with a nod, giving up on the pins for the moment, "Is that alright? I thought she would be the hardest to convince."

"It's fine," he said, waving away her concern, "I care for Belarus, but not the way she sees me."

"She's like the worst of America and my sibling's combined," she said with a sigh, leaning forward and resting on her arm on her lap.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, frowning slightly.

She shrugged, thinking of a polite way to phrase her words, "She's protective of you. She butts into our business. She reacted angrily to our marriage. I don't think she likes me at all. She also fights like my brother."

"I suppose that is true," he said with a short nod, "No one seems to like that we married."

"Does that matter?" she asked, wondering if others' opinions bothered him as they sometimes bothered her. She thought it would be that much easier if they could be left alone without others' thoughts.

"I don't know," he answered blandly, "They're family."  
>Her phone went off in her bag behind her, startling them both. "I have to get that," she said, by way of apologizing for cutting off their discussion.<p>

"It's fine. I have work to do."

He went back to his laptop, and she went around the bed and picked up her phone. She'd just received a barrage of text messages from one of the representatives. Most were about the town with the water main break. She quickly opened up and began to boot up her laptop in case she needed it while beginning to type her return. She was going to try to answer all the questions she could. Her headache developed as she typed, but nonetheless thankful she had gotten good at typing with her cast on.

They ate a rather late dinner in the hotel's restaurant, and she made sure to leave her phone in their room. They talked comfortably of work and of the past week's meetings. She was relieved that they went the entire meal without America or anyone else popping in on them. It was much nicer than the meal they'd had on their date. She wondered if they should try again, pick a place that wasn't French.

When they returned to their room, England found her phone full of texts again. "I have to answer these," she told him apologetically.

"I understand," he said with a shrug.

She set up again, opening her laptop and getting comfortable on her side of the bed. She had a few texts from some other representatives, but she made sure to respond chronologically from the oldest to the newest text. Russia turned on the television to watch the news, and she did her best not to be distracted by it. He eventually got ready for bed while she was still texting and emailing responses. For whatever reason, they had hit some sort of problem and wanted her opinions to boost whichever side they were on. She had received a number of texts and emails all week, but she had no explanation for the sudden outpouring.

She watched the clock between responses as it became later and later. She eventually decided on a last response and got ready for bed herself. "Finally," Russia murmured as she joined him in bed.

She agreed with him. She was exhausted, and despite the enjoyable moments it had been a long week. She snuggled into her pillow, and when Russia draped his arm over her, she put hers over his. She was about to fall asleep when her phone went off again. They both groaned. She checked the text. It wasn't from someone important, probably just some aide desperate for attention from their boss, and shut off her phone. She settled back down and finally got to sleep.

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><p>England woke to Russia moving behind her. "No, don't get up," she complained, snuggling into her pillow and trying to resist fully waking up, "It's the weekend, sleep in."<p>

"Why do you want to sleep in?" he asked, stilling.

"I'm tired," she mumbled, "Sleep."

"Alright," he said, resettling back into his place. She breathed slowly, starting to fall asleep again. She then felt a movement along her arm. It took her a moment to realize through her sleepiness that Russia was trailing his fingers along her arm. He slowly dragged his fingers up and down her arm, then her side, only just avoiding tickling, then up and down and along her back. She didn't know what he was doing. She was too tired to figure it out, to ask him. She was asleep as he began to thread his fingers through her hair.

She woke much later, feeling much more awake and aware, to mid-morning sunlight and Russia's hand curled against the side of her neck. She pushed his hand away from her neck and sat up. He was surprisingly asleep again so she woke him by nudging his shoulder. He peaked at her for a moment before shutting his eyes. He rolled onto his back and sighed contentedly. "Now you don't want to get up," she said, catching him smile a little at that.

She crossed her arms, "We should go out for lunch."

He opened his eyes again, "I can get up for that."

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><p>They're talking about things. This is good. They're getting somewhere. England's also talked to Belarus so they've fixed one problem at least.<p>

That's about all I have to say about that. They've been in this city for the meetings since the end of chapter 12. It's taken me 7 chapters to get through the week. I didn't mean for it to take that long.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and please review!


	20. Chapter 20

Alright, here's chapter 20. I have no idea if England's conversation with her boss is particularly accurate to how politics work, but I think it works for this story. Hope you enjoy!

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><p>England began to notice she was developing a certain kind of headache. It was one of those kinds of headaches where she knew instinctively that they were caused by her government. She had gotten all those texts for a reason. When she returned with Russia to his house, her headache had turned into an incessant migraine. She was displeased, and she swore her wrist was just as bad as her head. She forwent packing and immediately called her prime minister.<p>

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"We're still sorting matters out on which option to use to fix the water main in the town," he admitted, and she gave him credit for keeping his courage. It didn't matter overall though, she still snapped.

"You're still deciding on an option!?" she yelled at him through the phone, "You haven't helped those people at all!? It's been over a week! What the hell have you been doing?"

"We haven't done nothing," the man replied, his confidence crumbling against the wrath of his country, "We evacuated the people living there, we've stopped the flooding, and there's not going to be anymore breaks for the moment."

"And how are you going to get them back into their houses?" she asked, putting her hand on her waist and assuming a position of power though he could not see it.

"That's what we're trying to decide," he said, failing to calm her down.

"There are only two options!" she bellowed, "The only successful projects are the London and the Manchester ones! For God's sake, it's not that difficult of a choice!"

"It's not that simple," he began, took a breath, and then continued, "There's the cost to consider, and the longevity of the repairs."

"Bullshit!" she shouted, "I run the numbers. The price points aren't that different! Someone's pulling a power move. Quit the political crap and pull your heads out of your arses! Pick one and execute it immediately!"

"We'll be decided by tomorrow, Ma'am," he said, sounding just like a soldier.

"Then will you execute what you've decided immediately after?" she asked, ever the mother trying to control naughty children.

"Absolutely, and I'll have a secretary send you all the status updates," he said, adding the last bit even though she knew he didn't actually have to. She thought it was a nice touch.

"Good, that's all I wanted to hear," she said, acerbic with her sweetness.

"Good day," he said before hanging up.

She pulled her phone away from her ear, shook her bangs out of her face, and sighed, feeling much better. She set her phone down on her desk and left for the bedroom. She found Russia still in the middle of unpacking, though he was almost finished. "Did something happen?" he asked, turning towards her while still moving to put something away.

"No, and that's the problem. They haven't started work on the water mains yet so I talked to my boss about it," she said as she awkwardly unzipped her suitcase single handedly.

"It sounded more like yelling," he commented lightly.

"You'd be upset, too," she told him snappily.

"I'm aware," he told her, not at all bothered by her tone, "I have something to ask you,"

"Yes?" she asked, turning to him and forcing herself to release her current aggravation and ignore her headache.

"Would you like to use the master bath?" he asked.

She blinked and reared her head back in surprise. "There's enough space for your things," he continued, "You don't have to use the hall bath."

"You're alright with that?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" he returned, looking confused.

"I don't know," she said, turning back to her suitcase and flipping the top over, "It's still your bathroom."

"Зайка моя (Zayka moya)," he said, causing her to look up at him, "You're my wife. I married you, I invited you into my home, and you share my bed. You're not a house guest. This is your home, too."

She swallowed thickly after his little speech. He didn't mean it that way, but she hadn't wanted to be reminded that married couples didn't always use their bed only for sleeping. "Alright," she said, deciding to accept his offer, "I'll use the master bath."

He smiled at her, "Good."

She didn't know what to say after that so she pulled out her toiletry bag and headed into the bathroom. She had only been inside of the room a few times and wasn't totally familiar with all of its contents. It was significantly larger than the hall bath and painted with more calming colors. The appliances were also much more current than the fixtures in the other bathroom. She went about the room setting up her things in the spaces he had left over. She had some more of her things in the hall bath still so she would have to bring them over.

She turned around to leave and found Russia standing in the doorway. She tensed, remembering what had happened the last time they'd been in a bathroom together. She curled her fingers into her palm. She didn't want to have another fight, not after the past week. This time was different though. He was blocking the exit, but he was leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. He wasn't threatening, and there was enough space for her to feel comfortable. "Are you happy?" he asked, watching her closely.

"About getting to use the nice big bathroom?" she asked in return, "Yes, I'd say so."

"No," he said, glancing downwards for a moment with a hint of a smile, "I mean…are you happy? About everything?"

"You mean, about us?" she asked, figuring he wanted to know if she was happy with their being together after having denied them even having much of a relationship.

He gave her a short nod. She wanted to tell him that this was too soon. They were married, they'd had a couple of dates, they'd had a fight, he had a pet name for her, and she had told him about King Arthur. That was it, and that was only for now. They'd spent two months together, but she felt like something new kept happening and she couldn't grow comfortable. She wanted to brush it off, but Japan's and France's advice kept nagging at her to tell him something.

"I don't think you're going to be pleased with my answer, but," she paused, trying to delay seeing his reaction, "I'm not unhappy."

"And what does that mean?" he asked, shifting his position against the door frame.

"I'm still getting," she released a short sigh before admitting to him, "used to this. It's not bad, but I…a lot of things have changed since marrying you, for me."

"Is there anything about it that you like, at least?" he pressed.

"I like the food," she said with a little of a wry smile. She'd found a non-answer and she was going to stick with it.

He rolled his eyes, "I know you like the food. Is there anything else at all?"

She didn't want to answer and twisted her lips to the side. There were things she liked, but she didn't want to admit it, not to him and not yet. "Nothing?" he asked, pushing off the door frame with his shoulder so that he stood before her.

"No, not nothing," she said, suddenly floundering for words and shaking her head.

"Are you refusing to tell me the truth? Do you not like it here?" he questioned, taking a step towards her and crossing his arms.

"No, I am telling the truth," she said, placing her hands on her hips, "I'm not unhappy. I just don't want to tell you yet."

"Why, because you're lying?" he asked, leaning down towards her.

"Why would I lie to you?" she asked, dropping her arms, "What reason do I have?"

He didn't answer and instead looked away and clenched his fists and jaw. "I'm sorry, Russia, but you're asking too soon," she said, tugging on the chain of her necklace "I'm not trying to upset you, but it's only been two months. What were you expecting? I don't know what to tell you."

"I thought," he said before pausing and resettling his feet and hunching his shoulders, "After this week…"

"You thought what? We still haven't," she swallowed thickly before finishing her sentence, "sorted anything out."

"I know," he emphasized those words, "That's why I asked. If you'd just tell me something you like I could do that more."

"I don't," she paused to rub her forehead, "I just want you to listen to me. I don't have an answer plain and simple for you. Regardless of what you say, this isn't my home. I need time."

Her chest felt compressed and her headache was worsening. She didn't want to upset him, but she needed him to do something else. She didn't know what she needed him to do, but it wasn't this. She wasn't ready to truly and really discuss this with him, and she was seriously regretting not having spent more time with him during their engagement so she'd have at least have had her house to return to after conversations like this. Here, she could take the nap she wanted, but it would be in _his_ bed.

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone calming as he took a few steps away so he could lean against the counter, "I just want this to be better."

"That's fine," she replied with a sigh, "It's not going to happen right this minute, though."

He shrugged, "I'd like it to be easy, but nothing ever is."

She nodded in agreement then asked, "If you don't mind me asking, but are you…not happy, but are you alright with this? I mean, are you still alright with being married to me?"

"Yes, of course," he answered without hesitation, "Not the fighting, but I'm glad I married you."

England felt her cheeks heating, having not expected such a frank and positive answer. "Really?" she asked, too surprised to stop herself.

"Yes, I think it's been exciting," he responded, starting to show a hint of a smile, "It is easy for me because it is my house, like you said. I'd just like to touch you more, but not in that way."

"I understand what you mean," she told him and considered his words for a moment, "Russia, are you touch-y feel-y?"

"What is touch-y feel-y?" he asked, titling his head slightly.

"It's, um, liking to touch people when interacting with them, like hugging and petting and such," she said with a shrug.

He thought for a moment then nodded, "Not with everyone, but yes."

"Oh," she said before releasing a short, embarrassed giggle.

"What?" he gave her a look.

"I'm not a touch-y feel-y person at all. I mean, it's not bad or anything. I just," she stopped her babbling, licked her lips then started over, "Well, I can understand why you're upset about it."

"And?" he asked, watching her for her response.

"That's it," she said, looking away uncomfortably and scratching her elbow, "I don't like touching very much. It's weird, and I like my space."

"Then why do you let me?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Oh, um, because…" she trailed off, not able to find words. She felt awkward in the silence and glanced around the room waiting for something to happen.

"It's fine, tell me later. I'll make dinner in the meantime," he told her, giving her a soft smile. He moved away from the counter, taking steps towards her. He reached out his hand for her shoulder, but paused. He stood there for only a moment, with his hand outstretched towards her, then reluctantly began pulling back his hand. She extended her arm and took a hold of his hand before he could take it back entirely. He looked at her, surprised, but let her hold his hand. She slowly let their hands fall into a relaxed, hanging position between them. She smiled shyly at him and gave his hand a squeeze.

She felt a little ridiculous, just standing there in the bathroom together holding hands, but she kind of liked holding his hand. She could feel the warmth of his skin, a scar on the edge and callouses on the palm, the weight of his bones, and despite the roughness of his skin, know that he wanted to hold her with this hand and that he cared about her. It was a lot to read into holding hands, and that was why she didn't want to touch him or be touched if he wasn't reading this as well. He brushed his thumb along the edge of her hand and wrist, and she was glad it was her right hand.

She looked up from their hands to see that he was smiling in a content manner. She felt herself blushing and ran the tips of her fingers of her other hand over her cheek. He chuckled softly and her blush darkened. "Don't laugh at me, go make dinner," she mumbled at him, though not releasing his hand.

"Alright, Зайка моя (Zayka moya)," he said, "I'll make dinner."

He pulled his hand away from hers and left the room. She stood there for a moment, trying to remember what she had been planning on doing beforehand. She remembered she was moving her things into the master bath and headed for the exit. She stopped when she caught the sight of herself in the mirror out of the corner of her eye. Her cheeks were rosy, and she could almost see maybe why he teased her about blushing. She rubbed her right hand over her cheek, as if that could make the color fade away. She stopped rubbing her face and decided to get back to her work. She left the room for the hall bath.

It didn't take her long to finish transferring her things into the master bathroom. She arrived in the kitchen when Russia was about halfway through preparing dinner. She watched him cook, absent-mindedly thinking about what she did like about their marriage. Her headache kept her from coming up with any solid thoughts. She was a little startled when Russia set a plate before her, her thoughts and headache having distracted her enough to keep her from watching.

They were a few minutes into her meal when Russia asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, pushing her food around on her plate rather than eating it, "I just have a bit of a headache."

"Do you want anything for it?" he asked, leaning towards her.

"No, it won't help," she said, shaking her head.

"Is this about that town?" he asked gravely, his voice deepening.

"Yes, but I got it sorted. That's why I was talking with my boss earlier," she said and ran a hand over her forehead.

"Alright," he said, letting her be and returning to his meal.

England made it about halfway through her meal before deciding that her headache actually was a bit too much. She only wanted to sleep, drained from travel and yelling and talking and stress. "I think I'm just going to go to bed," she said, getting down from her stool.

"Okay," he said with a nod, watching her as she left, "I'll put away the food so just leave your plate out."

"Alright," she said blandly, setting her plate down on the counter space nearest the fridge.

"I have some work to do, but then I'll join you," he told her as she headed for the main hall.

"Okay," she said, only sparing him a nod and a glance before leaving for their bedroom. It was certainly much more convenient to use the master bath than it had been to use the hall bath. It took her only a few minutes to prepare for bed, but she didn't fall asleep easily. She was exhausted, but couldn't sleep. She wondered if she had grown too used to Russia's presence beside her as she slept.

Russia came into the room before she had fallen asleep, and she rolled over when she heard him open the door. She hoped they both weren't up too late. "What are you doing still awake?" he asked quietly, coming towards her.

"I don't know," she mumbled in response.

"Go to sleep," he whispered to her.

"I've been trying," she whispered back, feeling a yawn beginning to build.

"Don't try, just relax," he told her before moving away to ready for bed. She was still awake, frustrated, and tired when he climbed into bed beside her.

"I hate headaches," she complained, and Russia didn't comment.

He placed his arm over her waist, laying just a bit closer than he usually did. "Go to sleep," he repeated.

"I am," she retorted, curling up and snuggling her head into her pillow. This time, she really did fall asleep.

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><p>They finally got around to talking! I, however, have no idea what I'm going to be doing for the next chapter so you'll probably have to wait till the end of May for the next update.<p>

I still haven't found anything new that's fem!EnglandxRussia, but I have gotten a tumblr now. It has the same username, and I use it to talk about fanfiction and writing and fandom things. I don't post frequently, but feel free to check it out.


	21. Chapter 21

I feel terrible for writing this, but it sort of had to be done at some point. I kind of just upchucked all of England's issues in this chapter. She's experienced a lot of trauma and sorrow and guilt and she's learned to force it down. She's had terrible things happen to her, and she's done terrible things to others. There has to be a reason for self-deprecating humor being a stereotype for the UK. Sometimes, she isn't joking.

**Warning: There are a few depictions of wars, fires, and massacres in this chapter. I wouldn't call them graphic, but if you believe if it's better you not read them skip this chapter. I'll have a little summary explanation at the bottom. **

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><p>England was much improved over America's War of Independence, but the date of her former colony's 'birth' had carried such negative emotions for so long that all of the painful experiences of her life became centered upon that day. Her dreams and sorrow of that time of the year were no longer just that of losing the girl who had been the closest to her in so long, but also bombs at all hours of the night, her soldiers ripped to pieces by bullets, plague wiping out entire swaths of her population. Her nightmares and waking moments were filled with the blood of indigenous peoples, African slaves, her people being killed by invading Romans and Danes, and even by her siblings' people.<p>

On that particular night, June 30th, her dream ended with the ravens in the Tower of London flying into the sky as the building collapsed before her. The free ravens turned on her and began pecking at her face and her hands. She woke as one managed to pluck out her left eye. She was sitting upright in bed, in the dark, feeling chilled and sweaty. Her heart pounded in her ears for several moments before quieting. Her mouth was dry, and she was split between wandering down to the kitchen for water or lying down to pray there weren't any more dreams.

She pushed away the sheet and got out of bed. She looked behind her, remembering that Russia still slept beside her. He had rolled over in his sleep to face away from her. She left the room, making sure to not to shut the door so that its latch wouldn't click. She made her way slowly in the dark down to the kitchen. She got herself a glass of water and drank it while leaning her back against the sink. She then quietly made her way back upstairs and to bed.

When she climbed in, she heard Russia ask sleepily, "Why're you getting into bed?"

"I needed a glass of water," she explained quietly, omitting why she had needed it.

He mumbled some affirmation, placed an arm over her, and was asleep again. She sighed and wondered if the contact would make her sleeping better or worse. Luckily enough, she didn't dream for the rest of the night.

She went about her day a little more wearily than normal, but without noticeable difference in her work proficiency. Russia turned out to be an unusually pleasant distraction. Watching him make dinner had been surprisingly relaxing. It had been some time since she'd watched him cook, and he had almost preened under her attention and had returned it with smiles. He was being sweet, and she couldn't help but smile back.

Their evening meal was nice, and afterwards England occupied her time with a game she had recently found on the internet. As much as she might rag on America for her time on the internet, she knew she was hypocritical. However, night still came, and she still had to sleep. She was careful not to show Russia any of her nervousness regarding the nightmares she was certain she would have. Still, it seemed like he had noticed something as he ran his hand down her back from her shoulder to her waist then over her side to brush across her stomach before settling. It was meant to be a comforting motion, but she wasn't certain if it was comforting.

She dreamed of a crossbow bolt careening into the face of the man beside her. A chain-shot blasting through a mast so that it fell and crushed sailors while other cannonballs ripped through the hull and the bodies of men on deck. Rushing forwards only to be stopped by a bayonet plunged into her chest. She was trapped in the middle of the street as all the wooden buildings around her burnt to a crisp, and the fire singed her hair while the wind blew east. Then, she was hurled by an explosion into the sea, floundering in the water as she watched the ship before her sink in flames. It was suddenly solid beneath her feet and she fell to her knees on the deck of an entirely different sort of ship. She couldn't move as she watched African women and children be pushed into the sea by brutish sailors. She looked away to find herself seeing at the deathbed of her dear queen. She leapt for her, trying to save her, but she disappeared beneath her hands. She was clutching the dash of an airplane cockpit. It was a bomber and the city beneath her was an inferno.

She woke gasping for breath with her legs tangled in the sheets. She yelped when she felt a hand on her neck. "England, calm down," Russia said, his voice rough and his tone sleepy, "What happened?"

She pushed his hand away and took a few seconds to steady her breath. "It was just a dream," she told him quietly, trying to make out his features in the dark. He was rather close, leaning over her, and she felt his breath on her when he sighed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving to smooth her hair; but she batted his hand away.

"I'm fine," she insisted, "I just need sleep."

She rolled onto her side to face away from him. After several moments, he moved away to lie back down. She was grateful that he kept his distance, knowing he shouldn't behave so caringly towards her. She fell asleep again, but wasn't as lucky as the night before. Her nightmares continued to run red with blood.

She jerked awake at the sound of the alarm clock. Russia shot her a worried look, but she waved him off. She was slow to get ready. Old memories were seeping out of seams, and she half wanted to stare at them in horror and half wanted to brush them back under the rug. Russia almost knocked her over on his way out of the room she was paying so little attention to her surroundings.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked with his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"I'm fine," she snapped, pushing past him to get access to the bathroom. She shut the door behind herself without glancing back. She took a long shower and dressed slowly; hoping Russia would be gone by then. She went down to the kitchen when she finished. He wasn't there, but he'd left breakfast out for her. She found a note tucked underneath her plate. He'd been rushing when he'd written it; his blocky all capitalized letters were slanted and messy.

In his letter, he apologized for upsetting her if he had and wished her well. She crumpled up the note and threw it away. He was much too nice to her. She only ate the breakfast because she didn't want to make something else. She ate less than half of it anyways.

When she went up to work, she brought her mp3 player into the office with her. She needed her favorite music to help block things out. Once she began working, she narrowed her focus. She didn't look at the time, never switched to a new song from shuffle, only stopped for a short time for lunch, and just kept working. She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped. She looked up, surprised to see Russia watching her with a bemused expression. She quickly glanced back down to her work.

"Your music is too loud," he said, removing his hand, and she realized her music was still playing, "You didn't respond when I called."

"Sorry," she said quietly, not looking at him and wanting him to go away. She heard him take a few steps away from her.

"Dinner will be ready soon," he told her. Then he left.

She sighed and lowered the volume once she heard the door click. With the music quiet and her mind out of her work, she was wandering back to her memories. She ran her hands over her face, ignoring the scrape of her cast. She felt so tired. After listening to her music for a few minutes more, she closed out of what she was working on and shut off her mp3 player. She got up and walked slowly down to the kitchen. She straightened her back and shoulders as she approached the kitchen and pressed her index fingers against the bridge of her nose before sweeping them down and across her cheekbones.

She entered the kitchen with her head high and took her usual seat. She watched him prepare their meal silently, wishing it would calm her and thinking how kind it was of him to cook for her. She eventually let her gaze drop to the counter. He shouldn't be doing this for her either. After some time, he stopped cooking and placed a plate before her. "Thank you," she told him, keeping her tone neutral.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She glanced up at him to see that he was giving her a slight frown and his eyebrows had drawn just a little bit closer together. "No," she said, keeping her answer clipped.

"Why did you ball up and throw away my note?" he asked.

She closed her eyes for a few moments, hating when she slipped up. She pushed her food around on her plate. "I was rather grumpy this morning," she said, her tone edging towards caustic, "I didn't sleep very well."

"Nightmares," he said flatly, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

She glared at him out of the corner of her eyes before looking back to her food, "Dreams."

"Of course," he said; sarcasm certainly apparent in his tone. She ate a bite, realizing she wouldn't be able to fool him quite as easily as she fooled the humans. She wished she had prepared more appropriately for this. She had been foolish to think that this year would be different for the umpteenth time. They were silent.

"I've had nightmares," he told her quietly, resting his fork on his plate but still keeping it in his hand.

She looked up at him, uncertain, while he continued to look at his plate. Did he want them to talk? Was this an offer to discuss her dreams? Was this him trying to make her feel better? Didn't he understand that nothing could make those nightmares less painful? He couldn't help her. He shouldn't try to make her feel better.

He made eye contact with her, making her almost suck her breath back in. He was watching her, examining her, waiting for her to make her move. She looked away and told him, "Not mine."

She got down from her seat and took her plate with her, "You haven't had mine."

Once she'd scraped off her plate and set it in the sink she looked over to him. His elbows were on the counter, his fingers laced together, and his lips were leaning against his fingers. He eyes were still following her. She turned from him and left the room. She retreated to their bedroom and found a book to cocoon herself in. Russia plodded into the room much later. She gave him just a glance before returning to her book. She readied for bed after he did, but was certainly not looking forward to sleeping.

She curled up as close to the edge of the bed as she dared to be. She felt the tips of her husband's fingers against her shoulder blade. "Don't," she said as she readjusted the sheet over herself.

He withdrew his hand. England kept her eyes open for a long time. Even though she wasn't dreaming, she kept seeing terrors after faults after mistakes. The invaders sweeping across her land to hurt her people and hurt her. The times she hadn't been able to save her people, too little to do anything more than glare at the larger and stronger nations around her. Then when she had been older and stronger, she'd gotten angry and sought revenge. She was guilty of bleeding men, hacked limbs, screaming women and children, burning villages, barren fields, and empty eyes. Then it had gotten worse, she had gotten worse. She had thought it was her burden, so she slaughtered, sneered, used and abused, and wrung out whole nations while their blood dripped from the tips of her fingers.

When her eyes closed, she was granted no mercy. She watched again and again, lived over and over, the deaths of the very people she thought could help her. Every human who did something for her, anything for her, always died. Those few dear kings and queens she wished could have lived forever. Then, America abandoned her. She was left alone in the rain covered in mud and cold, and she might have deserved it. All the colonies left her. One by one, painfully, and she might have deserved that too. When it was too much, she forced herself awake. She sat upright in bed, her throat feeling full, and with hot tears on her cheeks.

"England?" Russia asked sleepily, and the sheet moved as he did.

She didn't dare look at him. She immediately got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. She didn't even turn on the lights until she had the door closed. "England?" he asked louder, more concerned.

She ignored him and faced the mirror. Her cheeks were wet, and her nose was red. She wiped her cheeks dry with the back of her hand and pushed back her hair. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself and not imagine ghosts appearing in the corners. She was startled when Russia knocked on the door. "Are you alright?" he asked sharply.

"I'm fine," she snapped at him.

"Alright," he responded, on the defensive.

England didn't know what to do and stared questioningly at her reflection. She'd never had to deal with someone during this time before. Every who knew gave her space, and those who didn't usually weren't close enough to drop in on her. She'd always been alone. Still, she was fairly certain Russia knew she had a problem with July fourth. He just didn't know everything else that had been piled onto it.

Her breath shuddered and she fought to keep her face free of tears. She put a hand over her mouth and watched the mirror silently as she breathed. When she removed her hand it was shaky, but her breathing was even and her lips were still and her eyes dry. She had successfully calmed herself for now. She glanced towards the door, uncertain with how to deal with Russia. She took a deep breath and decided that the best option was just to go back to bed and ignore his questions. She didn't want to talk about anything, and she didn't want him to pick at her memories.

She opened the door to find that Russia had gone back to bed. She was more relieved than she believed she could be. Her breath came out too quickly for a sigh. She turned off the light and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark before crossing the floor back to bed. She climbed into bed and wrapped herself in the sheet and nuzzled into the pillow. She knew worse was to come, but for now she would take refuge in this small comfort. She closed her eyes on the dark and fell only to find memories of the times where she couldn't have helped but to let her tears fall.

She woke feeling drained, and she ignored Russia entirely. He clearly had no idea what to do and let her ignore him. She took a long, hot shower, needing something to comforting to prepare her for the day. She got ready slowly, and this time when she came down to the kitchen; there was no note waiting for her. She ate breakfast and arrived in her office irritable. She chewed out every person who called her and was certain she had insulted several of them. She didn't want to talk to anyone, and she swore that even her email responses came out bitter and sarcastic and angry. It wasn't her fault people she didn't want to deal with just kept bothering her. She ground her teeth and when she felt she had done enough; practically slammed her laptop shut.

She went down to the kitchen, feeling hungry and wanting food. She searched through the pantry and the fridge, thinking there was nothing to eat. She eventually realized she was looking for alcohol. She slammed the cupboard she had opened shut. She was already too aggravated to go rifling through Russia's house to search for alcohol and only be disappointed when she wouldn't be able to find. Her huff turned into a growl as she turned on her heel to head for the front door. It was in everyone's best interest for her to take a walk to calm herself and only come back when she was too tired to think. She walked out the door without her phone or her keys. She only barely remembered to focus on where she was walking so that she'd be able to find her way back later before storming off down the streets of the neighborhood.

Russia came home to a silent and empty house with one kitchen cupboard door left half open. After checking the house for anything, he stood wondering for a moment what to do. He only had one option. He called Scotland.

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><p><strong>For those of you that need a summary: <strong>This chapter deals with England experiencing nightmares of terrible times in her life, from being invaded to invading and colonizing other nations, from June 30th to July 3rd. She doesn't tell Russia about any of it and increasingly becomes annoyed or angry at the things or people around her. Most tellingly, at the beginning of the chapter she goes from thinking Russia is sweet and appreciating when he is being nice to her and he calms her to thinking he is too kind and that he should stay away from her and that he can't help her. Russia tries to help her, but he doesn't really know what to do about it or even what it is. He hasn't even handled his own set of trauma and troubles entirely healthfully, not that England's bottling it away or drinking it away once a year is any better. So yeah, this chapter is mostly just set up for the Fourth of July. I just think England would have more to regret and mourn than just America leaving.

This wasn't so much as England having PTSD as England just having a really low point every year because her bad memories all just lead from one to another and in turn make her very upset. Some of the memories are specific to historical events, and some are more generic to the times. I'm just a little concerned it might not all be in character.

In other news, I haven't found any more RusUK stories. Also, I will be going to college from the end of June to the beginning of August which means I might be taking a hiatus. I don't know yet, but if I don't update during the summer that would be why. If I do take a hiatus, I'll try and make it up to you in August.

Please review!


	22. Chapter 22

Seeing as I don't know what's going to happen during the summer, and I had this written, I'm posting a bonus update. This was awful writing. I'm too emotionally attached to this story.

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><p>England rotated her wrist so that the vodka in her glass could coat the interior short of half an inch of the rim. She had been irrationally happy to have found Russia's liquor cabinet. She truthfully wasn't fond of vodka, but it was the best he had. She'd suffer the taste for the alcohol she needed. That happiness of having completed her goal had disappeared soon after the first glass. She felt bitter, uncomfortably hot in the breezeless air, and unreasonably incensed. It was why she was sitting outside on prickly, rough grass. She hadn't wanted to break anything in the anger that she had known was coming.<p>

She downed the glass and forced herself not to throw it across the backyard. It was so easy to curse out America on her 'birthday'; blame it on her. Still, cursing her year after year had done nothing for England. Telling herself 'if only she hadn't left me' or 'if only she hadn't given me a ghost on the calendar' didn't absolve her of her sins nor push away her pain. It would be so easy if she could will it away, but she couldn't control her feelings the way she could so simply align her face.

She poured herself another glass, hoping that this one would wash these thoughts away while knowing that it wouldn't. It doesn't hurt to hope. She swallowed a mouthful. She was still craving a stout and attempting to hate America. It was her own fault after all. She hadn't tried to control her government before her little colony had declared independence, and afterwards she had goaded Parliament on. Then the East India Company took India, and Parliament took the East India Company. Colony after colony came under her rule. England had always abhorred repeating mistakes. She had made sure to hold the reins tight enough to choke, thinking they wouldn't leave her that way.

She had thought she could make it better. She had thought she had made everything better. She had been creating things, wonderful things, and learning about the universe. She had wanted to teach them, and when they had refused; she lost her temper and shoved it down their throats. She had thought that because she had them and couldn't feel pain that they weren't hurting either. Then the World Wars had come.

At first she had thought it really would be the end to everything. It only got worse afterwards as it all began collapsing while America had ignored them, and Germany had rose from the rubble; appearing as her reflection in a tarnished, broken mirror. Terrifying and eye opening, she had been forced to see herself and had hated what she'd seen. She had let go of most her colonies and had done her best to stay still as they left. Everything after that had been an uphill battle. Still, around three centuries later, the rock bore down on her back. She stood upright only through practice.

She gulped down another mouthful, knowing it would chip nothing away. It only made her feel better for the moment. She had been doing this for long enough to know all the effects. She was going to drink again when she heard, "England!"

She panicked, tensing entirely. She hunched her shoulders, as if that could hide her away, and made certain not to look at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm here to check on you," Russia answered as she heard him sit down on the grass beside her.

"Go away," she growled at him, tightening her grip on her nearly empty glass of vodka.

"I don't want to leave you here alone," he told her.

"Why do you care?" she asked sharply, raising her glass to drink again, "I want to be alone."

Her hand was stopped by Russia placing his palm over the top of her glass. She whipped her head around to glare at him. He drew back a little, but didn't remove his hand. "Scotland told me to stay away, so I thought it was bad enough to not leave you alone and came home early," he explained.

"If Scotland told you that then you should have listened," she hissed at him. It was so hard to be fair to him when all he seemed to want to do was aggravate her. Didn't he understand she needed solitude to properly drink herself sick?

"I think he's wrong and I don't think he understands," he said, and she could see him clenching his jaw.

"Understands? What could you possibly understand that he doesn't?" she asked while trying to slip her glass out from under her hand. He pulled the glass from her hand. He tilted his head to the side for a moment then drank the little that was left in the glass. He then took the bottle from her. She tried to snatch it back, but he quickly had it out of her reach. She glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice it.

"Seeing former family and wondering if they still hate you," he said, looking like he was daring her to tell him he was wrong.

"What the hell would you know?" she seethed, baring her teeth threateningly at him. He smiled that insane smile, wide and bright.

"I was an empire, too. Only difference is that when I thought I could stand with giants; I lost," he answered, shaking his head slowly like he was retelling an old and familiar joke.

"The Great Game and The Cold War," she said; her joke sarcastic.

His smile almost seems to widen. This was definitely the time for him to remind her that she'd married an occasional creep, and maybe she deserved that too. "Think they'll ever forgive us?" he asked, voice entirely flat.

"No," she responded coldly, "and you won't forgive me either."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Don't you get it? Don't you know what I do to others?" she asked, putting her hand on the center of his chest, "I put their hearts on pikes to burn in flames."

She dug her fingernails into his chest through his shirt. He only patted her hand, not at all bothered by her invading his space and then harming him. "You'd have to melt the permafrost first to reach my heart," he told her lightly.

"As if that would be any trouble," she spat, pulling her hand away. It had always been exceptionally hard to threaten Russia, and she almost wanted to throttle him for making it difficult for her.

"England," he said.

"What?" she snapped as she drew her legs in towards her.

"It's been hundreds of years," he informed her.

"You don't think I know that?" she asked, balling her hand into a fist.

"Then why are you still doing this?" he asked, seeming to be angry with her now. It made her feel perversely better. At least now she wasn't the only one upset.

"Shut up," she snapped at him. She'd do just about anything to make herself stop thinking, stop this day from ever come up on the calendar again. "Go away or at least give me back the vodka."

"No," he said, crossing his arms, "You're drunk enough already."

"I most certainly am not," she groused, getting to her feet. She would get the alcohol herself if he wouldn't hand it over. She swayed when she stood, almost landing right back onto the grass.

"England, stop," he told her, standing in front of her and blocking her way.

"No," she said, trying to take a step forward. Russia put his hands on her shoulders to keep her still or from falling over.

"You can't do this," he told her, his smile shrinking. She guessed his nervousness in talking with her was gone

"Why not?" she asked, practically snarling at him.

"Do you do this every year?" he asked, "Drink until you pass out?"

"Yes," she growled, trying to push off his hands, "Get off."

"No, I'm not going to let you do that," he said, frowning.

"What do you care? It's not going to kill me," she scoffed, giving up on his hands to glare at him. He was certainly angry with her now.

"That doesn't mean it can't do damage. What exactly do you think it will do for you?" he demanded.

"I know it won't do anything for me," she snapped angrily, "not permanently."

"Then why?" he asked, squeezing her shoulders almost tight enough to hurt, "if you know that."

"Because!" she shouted in frustration at him.

"But that doesn't make any sense!" he returned, straightening to his full height, leaving his hands on her shoulders, and shaking his head, "You shouldn't be like this. You shouldn't be like me!"

"What?" she asked, confused and almost shocked out of her anger.

He took a deep breath in and looked lost for a moment. He said something that sounded like a curse. "When I said I understand, I really meant it," he said, "Nightmares and drinking and all. It's bad enough when I do it."

"That doesn't change anything," she ground out. He had knocked out enough of her anger, and she didn't like it. He was pulling off a blanket and revealing worse things underneath. It was one thing to be an angry drunk and another to be a self-deprecating and self-reproaching drunk.

He looked at her imploringly, "Just do something else, please. Choose some other distraction. I can't let you drink."

She tried to take a step back, but he still held onto her. She didn't want this. He shouldn't be nice to her. She deserved to be married to an occasional creep, not someone who understood. Not someone who would tell her to just not get drunk instead of stop feeling like this.

"Please," he said again, finally moving his hands. He used them to gently cup her head, his thumbs resting on her cheekbones.

"I," she began, not able to think very well. She'd always drunk the night into oblivion, washed it as best she could with never enough alcohol. No one had ever tried to support her in choosing another option. No one was ever even around when she got drunk. Her stomach was churning, and her inability to think was bothering her. "I think I'm sick," she said, looking away from him and wrapping her arms around her stomach.

"Let's go in then," he suggested, brushing his hands down her arms.

"No," she said, shaking her head slightly, "I don't want to move."

She dropped clumsily down back onto the irritating grass into a seated position. Russia kneeled down beside her. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She shook her head and pressed her fingertips against her forehead. "Do you want water?" he asked, and she nodded.

She watched as he left, making sure to take the vodka and glass with him. She ran a hand through her hair and wondered what to do. This wasn't supposed to happen. She had just wanted to feel awful and alone. She didn't know how to react to this. Was she meant to tell him thank you? Was she glad or relieved that he had come to check on her? Had she really wanted to be alone?

"Here," he said when he came back, holding out a different glass to her. She took it from him and took a sip as he sat down. It was cold and opposite to the vodka she'd been drinking.

"Thanks," she told him.

"You're welcome," he responded lightly, smiling gently.

"No, I mean it," she said, not able to look him in the eyes and staring into the water, "Thank you."

He didn't say anything, and she refused to look up. Then, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "This won't happen next year," he promised her, "We'll do something else."

"Don't just say that," she said quietly.

"Why not?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"How do you know that this isn't just some horrible mistake, a horrible mess? How can you even think about next year? Why would you want to stay?" she asked, feeling more confused than she could remember being in a long time.

"I'm not going to leave because of this," he cleared his throat, "I wouldn't want you to leave me if I did this."

She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and breathed out. She was trying to find some sort of center while wondering whether to believe him. Would she do the same for him? She dropped her shoulders, trying to sort out her thoughts for any sort of response.

"I wouldn't," she told him, feeling her stomach sink as she hoped all the lies she'd ever told would help her pass this one off as the truth.

After a pause, he said, "Thanks."

She looked over to him. He was giving her a soft smile with the look of a chess master buried underneath it. He was looking just a little too closely at her seams before he rubbed his hand over her back, "Is there anything else you want?"

She shook her head, "I just want to sleep, but…"

"You think you'll dream," he continued for her, and she nodded.

"I'll just go to bed," she said slowly, "Get today over with."

"You'll be alright with that?" he asked, watching as she slowly got to her feet.

"I don't feel like doing anything more," she said with a sigh once she was upright and sturdily standing.

Russia stood beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. "Alright," he said, keeping her steady as they walked back to the house.

England felt tired. She could only guess at how much sleep she had gotten. She hadn't eaten enough to drink as much as she had. She felt emotionally drained. All she really did want to do was a have a dreamless night of sleep. It took the same effort to continually lift her feet as to resist just falling against Russia's side and letting him do all the work. It was awful going up the stairs, and she was relieved to see their bedroom door. He opened the door and guided her to the bed.

She immediately lied down on her back, suddenly feeling all the tension and strain in her back ebbing away almost painfully. She probably would have slept immediately out of sheer exhaustion if she still didn't fear her dreams. She had been keeping her thoughts at bay, but no amount of words or drink would keep nightmares away. She wanted to pull it all off like a sweater, lift up the stress and guilt, pull it over her head, and toss it aside. She only wanted the weight off her shoulders and the regret away from her skin.

She was startled when she felt the mattress move. She looked over to see that Russia had taken off his shoes and had lain down beside her. She thought of telling him to leave to go do something else; that he didn't need to stay. She didn't open her mouth, only took a deep breath in then let it out and stared up at the ceiling. She felt his fingers brush against her shoulder. She sighed and reached across herself to hold his hand. He gave her hand a squeeze.

She wasn't able to keep her eyes open. After a few seconds she fell asleep, still oscillating between being thankful that he was here and wishing he were gone. She dreamed, of course; drowning in enough blood to create a sea and no matter what she couldn't hold the wounds tight enough to stop it from pouring out. She woke, feeling blinded by the darkness she hadn't expected. She felt like she had only slept for a few seconds. Her feet were against something solid, and she realized it was Russia's leg. He had changed at some point into pajamas and was lying face down with his leg in her space. She didn't have the energy to think about it and was asleep again.

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><p>The rest of the week, and a portion of the following week, was quite awkward. England felt embarrassed, questioning why she had gotten drunk at the house and why she hadn't put up much of a fight at all when he'd shown up. Russia seemed extra attentive to her moods while never knowing what to do with whatever information he gleaned. He'd ask her open ended questions or giver her suggestions of things to do and would walk away when she politely declined to them all.<p>

She was getting better now that the day had passed. She was used to getting over it on her own. All his attempts at helping her made her nervous, reminding her that she did have this problem she only wanted to deal with then forget about. She asked him to stop, and he did. She began to be able to sleep without nightmares again. She was well rested enough to do her work without getting agitated by everything and everyone. She felt better though she knew there was much more ground to cover. Next year would still come after all.

She figured everything was back to their sort of normal when she came down to the kitchen to watch Russia cook and smiled back at him when he noticed she was there.

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><p>Small character arc complete! Hopefully, Russia came across properly, and England isn't too weird of a drunk. I really don't know what I'm doing, but they're starting to realize that they have more similarities than they thought. It's not the greatest chapter, but it will do.<p>

By the way, the Russian Empire was to the British Empire what the Soviet Union was to the U.S. England, I guess, just wanted a classier name for their rivalry. The Great Game lasted about twice as long and there actually was a war (the Crimean War) between the two empires, which Russia lost (the British Empire had backup). If it reminds you of Sherlock Holmes, it's because BBC Sherlock took the name as a title for one of its episodes.

Anyways, I hope you liked the chapter and please review! Seriously, only like two people review anymore.


	23. Clean

So this is short and a bit late, but it's also an update. So some of the stuff that happens in the very first part of the chapter has been happening over the course of other chapters and the main part of the chapter happens in mid July.

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><p>Slowly, the little issues that had been only bothersome were growing into problems. It had started with them creating bizarre personal laundry schedules. That hadn't been an issue until England had found one of her bras behind the dryer, and neither had been sure how it had gotten there. He would come down to wash his clothes to find hers in the wash, and she'd find that his nicer undergarments were occupying the drying rack with no space for hers.<p>

Then he began to complain about all the hair that he found in the bathroom. Long and blond, England had never been bothered by it before, but he was. England was always displeased to find that he always managed to get the entire rug wet after showering. She started slipping into the shower first, exacerbating the hair problem as well as causing Russia unnecessary aggravation because he actually had to physically be somewhere on time in the morning.

After that, they began to realize that they continually expected the other to do things. England would notice that the rugs needed vacuuming, would tell Russia, and then two days later nothing would have changed. Then, Russia would see that the kitchen floors needed cleaning, would tell England, and nothing would be done. The bathroom had gone weeks without proper cleaning, some rooms had been cleaned while other rooms still needed it, an entire light load of laundry was dyed lavender, and they still hadn't changed the bed sheets.

After spending a day walking around inside of the house barefoot to find the bottom of her feet dirty, England had enough. She sat down at her computer and hashed out a solution in thirty minutes. When she heard Russia return, she printed it out and brought it down to discuss it with him. "I made a schedule," she told him, holding out the typed page she'd printed off.

"For what?" he asked, maneuvering around her to get to the kitchen.

"For chores," she said, following him into the room, "I'm tired of this place being dirty, and we don't need a repeat of the lavender fiasco."

"The cleaning?" he asked, glancing at her as he opened the fridge, "Isn't that the wife's-,"

"Finish that sentence, I'll cut off your tongue," she said, glaring at him, "If you had wanted someone to clean up after you, you should have hired a maid. I work, too."

"I'm sorry," he said, taking a step back and turning to face her, "I didn't realize-,"

"Realize what? That you live here still and have responsibilities to keep it clean and that I'm not here to clean up after you?" she asked, slamming the paper down onto the counter then crossing her arms.

"I had the wrong idea. I'm sorry," he said then gestured to the paper, "We'll try this then."

"Alright," she said, "but don't think it's my job to do the chores because I'm a woman. We're partners, we go halfsies."

"Halfsies?" he asked.

"Half and half, split evenly, we both do half the chores," she said, crossing her arms.

"That seems fair," he said slowly. He turned back to the fridge to start cooking again, giving her a wary look when he had pulled out what he needed. She didn't want to stick around and left. She started on her chores instead and began dusting the rooms on the first floor. She could tell that Russia didn't regularly clean some of the rooms by the way the dust was piled on the furniture extra thick. As there was still time left before dinner, she began to clean the floors. She felt sufficiently calm by the time Russia called out to her to tell her dinner was ready. She still wasn't happy about his reaction, but she would get over it.

She joined him for dinner, but didn't say anything to him. She could see him struggling to find something to say, but she didn't want to talk about it. He read over her schedule while he ate and didn't comment. After finishing her dinner, she got down from her stool to clean off her plate when she felt him tap her shoulder. She turned around to face him, willing to at least listen to what he had to say.

"It seems even, so we'll do it. I'm sorry for offending you," he said, pressing his lips together after he finished.

She nodded, and walked around to the sink. She rinsed her dinnerware, put it into the dishwasher, and left.

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><p>England had given herself the entire first floor to clean and the laundry to do because Russia did the cooking. She was nervous when she set about doing the first load of their laundry the morning of the day after. Another reason she had given herself the laundry was that she hadn't wanted Russia doing the laundry because she had felt uncomfortable with the idea of him handling every item of clothing that she wore. She was unsettled that she had to do his laundry, and she felt weird about the whole thing. Though, she supposed he wasn't bothered by it so she shouldn't be.<p>

She was fine taking off the bed sheets, leaving the comforter and blanket they hardly used folded at the foot of the bed, but felt a little embarrassed when it came to collecting the clothes Russia had worn. Just touching his clothes was bad enough, but she was certain she was blushing while she sorted them. Despite feeling flustered, she managed to finish all the laundry without error and used the time between loads to finish cleaning the first floor. Still, she was relieved once she finished folding the last of his clothes. She brought up their laundry and immediately began putting hers away. She considered putting his away for him for a moment before realizing that she had no idea where to put them.

She remade the bed before heading back into her office to work. She was keeping track of a bill that had been introduced for the town with the water main issues. The sponsor had opted for the Manchester Plan and the bill seemed likely to be passed within a matter of weeks. It wouldn't be done nearly as quickly as she wanted it to be done, but at least something was getting done. She ran her hand over her wrist, wishing she could just rip her cast off. She took a break for a late lunch before getting to a new round of emails to respond to.

She came downstairs that evening when she heard Russia return, saving what she had been working on before leaving her office. "It's all clean," he said, smiling when he saw her.

"Yes, I also did the laundry this morning and changed the bed sheets. Now, you just have to do the second floor," she said, coming to stand in front of him.

"That's wonderful," he said, taking a step towards her and holding out his arms.

She gave him a confused look, and he raised his eyebrows. "What?" she asked, crossing her arms.

He shrugged his shoulders while leaving his arms out, "I want to give you a hug."

"What for?" she said, leaning back.

"Because I want to," he said and gave her a hopeful look, "Please?"

She considered shaking her head and walking away, teasing him and telling him no. "Fine," she told him quietly, but didn't drop her arms.

He grinned, came towards her, and she moved her arms out of the way at the last moment. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her against him. Her head and her hands were against his chest and her chest was pressed against him as well. She fit beneath his chin, and it would be the easiest of gestures to slip her arms around him and squeeze him in return. He was warm and her cheeks were flushing. Then he pulled away, but only far enough; her hands still on his chest and his on her waist. In a flash, she thought that in the future he might be able to lean down and press a kiss to her lips.

She ducked her head and pulled her hands off him, knowing her blush was darkening. She awkwardly crossed her arms again, wondering if she should ask him to remove his hands. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She cleared her throat then answered, "I'm fine."

"Okay," he said, brushing his thumb back and forth a few times. It felt like a shock, him doing that to her in daylight just after a hug she'd let him have, but she didn't move away from it. He began walking, turning her as he did so to have her walk beside him, and smoothly slid his hand around to place it at the small of her back. She glanced up at him startled. "I'll clean after dinner," he promised her, "Are you going to watch me cook tonight?"

She nodded, unable to find her voice. He chuckled, continuing to guide her into the kitchen, then brushed the back of his fingers of his free hand down her cheek. Her swatting his hand away wasn't able to ruin his good mood. She noticed him humming as he cooked and when he cleaned after dinner. After they were both in bed and before he turned out his light, he brushed his fingers against her cheek again. She couldn't help but feel it was a precursor to a good night kiss.

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><p>So I tried writing that without Russia's sexist misstep, but it wasn't right without it. I do think the nations as a whole would hopefully have gotten over all the sexismracism/homophobia/cissexism/ableism/etc. but they did live the majority of their lives in societies that did have all of that. It'll be like they're addicts with relapse always being a possibility for them. The hardest is going to be in the issues that happen inside committed personal relationships because they don't have a lot of experience with them.

That said, fluff for the end half of the chapter to make up for another problem/argument between them. I feel like I wrote this chapter just to have England awkward with Russia's clothes (someone draw me a chibi England blushing and holding a pair of Russia's boxers). The technology for this whole chapter is probably off, but we'll just go with them being old fashioned. I'll try to update again before August, but I'm not sure. I'll probably just post info about what I'm getting done on my tumblr (though it will also likely be proof of my procrastination).

I hope you liked the chapter though it was short, and please review (I'm also going to try and name chapters from now on)!


	24. Smoke Alarm

It's a long chapter, but I'm pretty nervous about it. Just roll with it. I'm also sorry for the huge paragraphs.

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><p>England wasn't quite sure how it had happened. She had gotten up before Russia and had wanted to make herself breakfast. She hadn't cooked in months, and she had thought that making scrambled eggs wouldn't be too bad of an idea. Then the smoke alarm had gone off. She had shut off the stove and had climbed onto to the counter to try and turn the alarm off, only to find that she still couldn't reach it.<p>

She heard foot falls, and it sounded like Russia was running. She was confused for a moment. She had thought he had been taking a shower because she had heard the water running. He ran into the kitchen dripping wet, half panicked, and wearing only a towel. She gaped at him and felt a brief burst of panic shoot up her spine as she leaned back too far and came dangerously close to falling off the counter top.

"What happened?" he asked, like he wasn't practically naked, and the water on his skin wasn't glimmering in the morning sunlight, and he wasn't managing to make it all look very attractive.

"I tried to make eggs," she said, finally remembering to lower her arms because she wasn't ever going to reach that smoke alarm.

He looked into the pan she'd been using and made a face. "That's not eggs," he said then looked back up to her, "but at least nothing's on fire."

"Yeah," she said, giving him a brief smile then remembering there were other things to take care of, "How do I turn off the smoke alarm?"

"There's a remote for it somewhere," he answered, beginning to search through the drawers for it. He found it after a few moments and shut it off.

"That's convenient," she said before the phone rang. He picked it up, listening to the person on the other end speak. He shook his head and answered in Russian. She didn't pay attention to what he was saying and began looking down at his chest. He then moved and held out a hand to her. She snapped her eyes up and mouthed 'what' to him.

After a moment, he pulled the phone from his ear and answered, "I'll help you down."

She was about to reply that he wasn't going to do it in that towel. Then she wondered if she meant for him to take it off or put on proper clothes. He asked the person on the phone to hold, set the phone down then took a step towards her. "Come on," he said, holding out both of his arms for her.

She took a deep breath in. She bent her knees and leaned towards him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She tried to look anywhere but his body. "Something wrong?" he asked as he put his hands on her waist.

"No," she said just a bit too quickly. He didn't mention anything. He moved back, and she jumped down. It definitely wasn't necessary for him to help her down, but it probably wasn't necessary for her to slide her hands down his arms when removing them from his shoulders. She didn't know if he noticed or not as he went right back to the phone.

She didn't move to dry off her hands and watched as he talked on the phone. He didn't have much muscle definition, but he was certainly toned. She liked the curve of his back and was playing with the idea of his towel being a little less thick. He had scars crisscrossing his skin, and she wasn't sure she had ever considered scars sexy before. She thought of running her hands over his skin and flicking her wrist at the end of each stroke to fling the water off. He probably wouldn't let her, and she curled her hands into fists. "Alright," he said as he put the phone back, "Everything's fine, just don't do that again."

He turned towards her and gave her a smile. "I won't," she promised, making sure to flick her eyes back to his when she noticed she was looking at above the edge of his towel.

"I'm going to go finish my shower," he said, turning from her. She watched him as he left, trailing her eyes over his back. She even leaned a little to continue to watch as long as she could while he left the room.

When he was gone, she sighed. She wished for a moment that Portugal was in the same time zone as her so she could talk to her. Then she pulled the pan off the stove and began cleaning it. Russia came down again sometime later, and she was almost disappointed to see him in clothes. "Now, what would you like for breakfast?" he asked, giving her a smile.

It was tempting to answer that she wanted him, and she quickly cast her eyes over his body again. He wasn't quite as mesmerizing with his clothes on. "Can you make scrambled eggs?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he answered, moving towards the stove.

She took her seat to watch him cook. He prepared enough eggs for the two of them and placed a plate before each of their seats. She waited until he was seated to begin eating.

"By the way," he said as she was taking her second bite, "I kind of liked your, em, added touch; running your hands down my arms."

She swallowed her bite of eggs. She purposely emphasized raising her eyebrows as she trailed her eyes over his body again, smirking a little at the end. "Noted," she said.

"What do you intend to do with that information?" he asked, seemingly pleased that she'd openly checked him out.

She chuckled, "That's confidential."

He looked curious, but he didn't press further. They returned to their meal.

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><p>Of course, while it was pleasant enough to joke about it, it was another thing to consider it seriously. In the little spaces between reading and answering, thinking and writing, sending and opening, she thought of Russia. She had known even before marrying him that he possessed qualities she liked and appreciated on a man. She could remember the first time she had met him, and though they had been professional enemies and he had still been growing, her first thought had been that his nose suited his face far better than it should. She had known that he was attractive, but she hadn't thought she would be able to feel so strongly towards him. There was no denying that now she was attracted to him as a whole, not just a feature or even just his body. It was as if she had suddenly realized that the silhouette of the most attractive man she thought she had conjured up in her imagination actually was Russia's.<p>

Her epiphany and following analysis didn't take up too much time in her day, but she made sure to keep lunch short just in case. Towards the end of the day, she found herself looking forward to dinner a little bit more than she usually did. She wanted to see if the attraction would still be there, if she could hold something like that for any reasonable length of time. It was a pleasant feeling, and it made her smile when she thought of it or Russia. She was curious as to why she hadn't been attracted to anyone in such a manner before, and that tinged her excitement with nervousness.

When she heard the door open and close, she immediately stopped what she was doing. She saved what she was doing, closed it, and then hesitated. She bit her lower lip, wondering what she should do when she went down stairs. She usually flirted and bantered with those she was interested in, but in all those other cases; she hadn't live with them. She had already shown interest and had flirted with him, and she desperately didn't want anything to go wrong. Suddenly everything seemed sharper and failure more painful now that she felt something towards Russia. She wondered if this was how he felt whenever he approached her, and she decided that if he could bear potential rejection she could as well.

She left her office and headed for the kitchen. She pulled her hair out of her bun as she walked and gathered it all in front of her right shoulder. Russia had his back turned to her when she entered, and she took her seat without him noticing. When he did see her, he flashed her a smile which she returned. She studied him as he cooked, finding new things to enjoy focusing on. He rolled up his sleeves when he cooked, allowing her to watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he used them. He spent a good portion of the time facing away from her, and she could admire the way his hair fell on the back of his neck or the way the sides of his chest led to his waist led to his hips. She watched the way he turned and the way his shoulders moved when he cut vegetables.

The attraction was most definitely there still. Again, it was exciting and worrisome. She was stuck between wanting him to notice and him to never guess it, and she wanted to know if he was so attracted to her. He was affectionate towards her, but was it because she was just a willing participant and nothing more? She didn't want that to be true.

When he finished serving and brought the plates around to sit and eat with her, she pulled her hand away from her face and crossed her legs. "Hey," she said to him as he took his seat.

He was surprised for a moment, but responded, "_Hello_."

She decided it would be alright to continue in Russian and slowly got out, "_How was your day_?"

"_It was a bit slow after this morning, but alright_," he told her with a shrug, "_And how was yours_?"

"_It was…fine_," she said, not certain of quite which word to use. He smiled, and she assumed that she used the right one. She also noticed that he was seated facing towards her and wondered if she should turn towards him.

He didn't speak for several moments, looking like he was trying to find words to say. "_Why do you want to talk_?" he asked eventually, leaning towards her and placing his foot on the bottom rung of her stool.

"_I need a reason_?" she returned slowly, turning on her stool to face him.

He laughed and returned to sitting upright, keeping his foot on the rung, "I can understand you, but your pronunciation still needs some work."

She sighed, "It's exhausting."

"It'll get easier," he promised, laying a hand on her shoulder. She wanted to give him a disbelieving look, but couldn't keep her lips from twisting into a wry smile. His eyes were on her lips for several moments before returning to her eyes. She hadn't noticed him doing something like that before and she pulled her bottom lip lightly through her teeth as she wondered. He looked away to eat, and she decided she should too. She couldn't help looking over to catch a glimpse of him in profile. She felt so ridiculous, sneaking peeks at him while they sat next to each other, and forced her eyes back to her food.

She began to eat quickly to keep herself occupied. She felt a tap on her arm and swallowed the bite she was eating. She turned to him, and he said, "_Talk with me_."

"_I…about what_?" she asked, reminding herself to listen to what he was saying and not how he was saying it.

"_Anything_," he said with a shrug.

"_I don't know enough_," she told him, flustered.

He spoke too quickly for her to understand what he said next. She shot him a cross look, and said, "_Slower_."

He nodded and repeated slowly, "_But I like it when you speak Russian_."

"But I don't," she reacted instinctively in English, her cheeks flushing, then corrected herself and said, "_Not well_."

"_I like it anyways_," he said with a smile. She liked when he spoke it, too. She liked hearing the words roll off his tongue even if she didn't know what they meant. It was hard to return the favor though as she was starting to believe that all the Russian words out of her mouth were embarrassments.

She didn't know what else to say and returned to her food. "Зайка моя (Zayka moya)," he said, trying to draw her attention and placing his hand on her arm again.

She didn't want to be teased, not after everything she'd thought about that morning, and refused to turn towards him. When she didn't respond, he ran his hand down her arm and asked, "England?"

"I don't know enough to speak with you," she said, nervously glancing at him.

"Then I'll teach you more," he responded simply, brushing his thumb over her arm, "After we finish eating."

She quietly replied, "Okay."

He gave her another smile and went back to his food, his knee touching hers. She pulled her knee away to face the counter. She wanted to learn more Russian, but they had taken to practicing in their bedroom and on the bed ever since they'd come back from the meeting. Attraction, bed, and Russia's lips circled around in her head, and she wasn't ready for any of that. She hadn't even thought about how she had to sleep next to him when she had seen him that morning. Her chest felt heavy, and she had trouble getting herself to swallow.

They cleaned their dishes, and she followed him back to their bedroom. She could tell he was excited to be speaking and sharing more Russian with her, and she had to make certain not to reveal anything. He pulled the textbooks off the bookshelf and set the books out on the bed before climbing onto it. She sat down across from him.

They started with new vocabulary, and she paid attention as best she could. She kept her eyes on her page and repeated the words back to him. Sometimes, she would look up and focus on the curve of his lips or the color of his eyes. She wondered what his voice would sound like if he whispered into her ear, and if it would be easy to lean over and kiss him into silence. Her thoughts were terrible distractions, and she kept running her hand through her hair.

She finished pronouncing a word and looked up to see he was watching her with his chin propped on his hand. "Are you nervous about something?" he asked.

"No," she responded automatically, knowing that her cheeks were going to give her away as she felt them heating up.

He raised his eyebrows, and she knew that he didn't believe her. There was, unfortunately, only one thing for her to be nervous about and that was him noticing her attraction. Noticing her nervousness was only a step away. "I'm not," she said, hoping he would believe her.

"If you say so," he said then moved the books aside so that he could stretch out his legs, his ankles by her hip.

She opened her mouth to respond then closed it. She tried to ignore his legs as they continued with the lesson on Russian. She was a little bit proud that she could carry a short and blunt conversation in Russian, but was disappointed that her pronunciation continued to leave something to be desired. She flipped idly through the textbook in front of her, the Cyrillic letters beginning to look like nonsense again, and she put out a hand to prop herself up. She jerked her hand away after it had landed one of Russia's legs, having entirely forgotten that they were there.

He laughed at her reaction, and she scowled at him, mostly out of embarrassment. She knew she was blushing again, and she wanted to hide away. He stopped laughing eventually, but continued to smile at her. "We can stop here for tonight," he told her, closing the textbook he had been using.

She quickly closed the textbook and began stacking them. She held her hand out for the one he had, and he handed it to her. She gathered the stack and went around to the bookshelf to begin putting them away, using the menial task to avoid saying anything to him. She turned around to see him watching her again.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Зайка моя (Zayka moya)?" he asked as she stepped back towards the bed, "You're not usually this…upset."

"I'm not upset," she snapped before she realized that that meant she'd have to give him a different answer for how she was feeling.

"Then what?" he asked, looking and sounding concerned.

"I'm just a bit," she sighed, not able to come up with a better word, "bothered, or flustered."

She wanted to tear her hair out because that wasn't any better, and it didn't seem like he would leave it there. "About what?" he asked.

"Nothing, it's nothing," she said, waving him off.

He stood up from the bed and crossed his arms. "Really?"

She swallowed and ran her tongue through her lips and looked aside before looking back up at him. "Yes, really."

"You're certain? You can tell me if there's something bothering you," he assured her, taking a step towards her.

She cursed herself for wanting to take the last step forward and slip underneath his arms. That was his fault because of that hug that she kept telling herself meant nothing. "It's nothing important," she said with a shrug, "It'll pass. You don't need to worry about it."

He didn't say anything or move for a moment, and then he sighed. "I'll get ready for bed then."

She stopped herself from letting words pour out of her mouth and asking him to stay to change. She only wanted a strip tease, but damn if it wasn't counterproductive to keeping him unaware of her attraction to him. She bit down on her thumb nail and kept silent as she watched him head into the bathroom with his pajamas.

She sighed as she began to gather her own things to ready for bed. She was going to have a tough time of it if it was going to be like this every day. She made sure not to look at him as she went into the bathroom, and he came out. She changed slowly, hoping that there wouldn't be any problems. Russia was already in bed when she came out of the bathroom and was reading.

She shut off the main light before climbing into bed beside him. She wasn't going to be able to read, and instead she lay down to try and sleep. He turned off the light soon after, and she jumped when he put his hand on her waist. "You're still bothered about something," he muttered to her.

"Just go to sleep," she told him, wanting calm and placing her hand over his. He shifted his hand to put it over hers and slotted his fingers between hers to touch her side. She let it be. She could handle this. He wouldn't be able to tell how pleased she was by his touch in the dark.

"Goodnight,"

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><p>It's not one sided anymore, and I got a chapter out before August. Hopefully, that was all in character and not weird at all.<p>

Please review!


	25. Cast Removal

Next chapter. Please enjoy!

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><p>As soon as Russia was in the door, England was at his side. "Can I ask a favor?" she asked him, placing a hand on his arm.<p>

"What is it?" he asked as he set his things down.

"Well, works been started in the town's water mains, some people are going back even, and my doctor confirmed that I can get my cast off. I would much appreciate it if I could schedule an appointment with your doctor to get it removed rather than travel back to London," she explained.

Most nations had specialized doctors to care for them from what was routine for nations to what was bizarre for humans. Getting regular care at a hospital worked for obvious injuries, like England's wrist breaking for example, but not when it came to understanding if her bones would continue to hold based on how well the construction and recovery in the town was doing.

"Yes, I can do that. When do you want the appointment scheduled?" he asked.

"As soon as possible,"

"I'll call him now," he said as he pulled out his phone. She stepped back to give him space as he made the call. She listened in on his conversation in Russian, understanding the times and dates he was discussing.

When he hung up, she asked, "This Friday at nine, right?"

He smiled slightly, "Yes. You're not going to start listening in on all my phone conversations now are you?"

"It'll have to depend on how interesting they are," she said.

"That doesn't bode well,"

She laughed, her hand coming to rest on his arm again. "Thank you for doing that though."

"It was no trouble," he said, placing his hand over hers for a moment. He then moved away to prepare dinner. She took her seat and watched him cook. She was in such a pleasant mood. Her cast would be gone in two days, and while her attraction towards Russia hadn't weakened, she was able to handle it appropriately. Everything was going swimmingly, even the laws her parliament was intending to pass to finalize the political portion of her marriage were fairing well.

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><p>She arrived for her appointment five minutes early. Russia's doctor was a thin man with spindly hands and a wise countenance. He spoke English, but with more of an accent than Russia did. She had handed him a stack of information on the town with the broken water main, but she had been duly impressed when he had begun pulling up information on his computer for confirmation. She wondered if Russia had ever tried to pass off his health as better than it was with him.<p>

"From what I can tell," the doctor said as he looked away from the screen. "Your wrist should be fine.

"Good," she said. She was more than ready to rip the hunk off her arm and never see it again.

"We're all set to saw it off then," he said, standing up and motioning for her to hold her arm out.

He pulled on gloves, turned on the saw, took hold of her cast, and sawed the whole thing apart. He was much handier with it than her current doctor was. "How was that?" he asked as he set down the saw, "Is your wrist still alright?"

"Yes, it's fine," she said, holding her arm still.

Her arm hardly looked any different than the last time she'd had a cast removed. The skin was pale, dry, and flaky. It itched a little, but she knew better than to scratch at it.

"Let's see it then," he said, pulling his seat over and holding his hands out for her arm.

She held it out for him, and he ran his fingers gently over her skin. "Still no pain?" he asked. "I'm not seeing any abnormalities."

"Yes, my wrist's fine,"

He glanced up at her for a moment then released her hand. "Now, do as I do."

He went through several rotational movements with his wrist as well tilting motions. She mimicked them slowly, but without pain or any sort of odd tension or pulling.

"You're all clear," he told her with a bright smile.

"Thank you," she said as she got to her feet.

"You're welcome. I wish you and your husband well," he said as he began walking her towards the exit.

She nodded, "Thank you, Doctor. Hopefully, the next time I see you won't be because of any physical injuries."

"Yes," he said with a nod. "Goodbye."

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><p>She returned home immediately after her appointment. She went up into the master's bathroom and shut the door behind her even though Russia wasn't home. She pulled her soft hand towel of its rack and wet it under the faucet. After she rinsed her arm, she soaped up the towel and gently began to run it over the dry and sensitive skin revealed by the cast's removal. She leaned her hips against the counter as she slowly cleaned away the dead skin and dried sweat. She knew to take her time from experience and let herself relax into a rhythm.<p>

Once she finished washing her arm, she patted it dry. She spent a moment searching her lotion. She rubbed the lotion into her skin, enjoying the feel of something soft and creamy after the cast.

When she finished, she returned to standing in front of the mirror. She watched herself as she unclasped the thin chain she'd been wearing ever since she'd gotten the cast. She had strung it through her wedding band for safekeeping as she hadn't wanted to keep the ring on her left hand with the cast. She let the ring slide off the chain and onto her palm. She set the chain on the counter and slid the ring back onto her fourth finger, smiling to herself.

She got to work after that, making sure to update her boss on her situation and let her left wrist rest. When evening came and she heard Russia shut the door after he came in, she rushed down the stairs to greet him. He noticed her immediately, but he still set his things down before he turned to her. "Everything went well?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, holding out her hand for him to see.

"You put your ring back on," he said, taking her hand and tapping his thumb against her wedding band.

"Yes, I did," she said and smiled at him. "There's actually something I'd like to ask you now that my cast is off."

"Yes?" he asked, lifting his eyes to hers though he was still fiddling with her ring.

"Could you, um," she began nervously, and curled her fingers around his. "That is, would you like to show me Moscow?"

"You want me to show you Moscow?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes, if that's alright," she said, smiling.

"It's more than alright," he told her with a grin. "It's wonderful."

He released her hand to engulf her in a hug, holding her tighter than last time. She felt her feet leave the ground, and she automatically wound her arms around his neck for security. He set her back down on her feet, but gave her one last squeeze before pulling away. She reluctantly released him when he stood up straight and left her reach.

"I'll have to make a list of all the places I want to show you," he said then cupped her face in his hands. "And I can make you practice your Russian when we go out to eat by making you order."

"No," she said, shaking her head and blushing in embarrassment. "I couldn't do that."

"Yes, you can," he said, moving his hands from her face to her shoulders.

She didn't really agree, but she wasn't going to tell him that when he looked perhaps the happiest she'd ever seen him. She wanted to step in again and hug him, slip her fingers beneath his suit's jacket. She forced herself to say something to keep anymore attraction induced thoughts away. "You're really excited about this," she told him.

"Of course," he said, removing his hands from her entirely. "Wouldn't you be excited if I told you I wanted you to show me London?"

"Well, yes, but," she said, waving her hands uselessly. "Do you? Do you want to see London?"

He seemed to seriously consider it for a moment then he nodded. "We can do that when we move into your house."

She wasn't surprised by the sudden added rush of happiness she felt when he said that. He wanted to know more about her and her beloved city and its people. He began to move towards the kitchen and motioned for her to follow him.

"That's another thing," she said cautiously as she took her usual seat. "We need to talk furniture. I wasn't sure what you would want so I didn't make any arrangements before we married. I'd ask my siblings to do it, but I don't exactly trust them not to wreck anything."

"We have some time," he said as he began pulling out ingredients and utensils.

"Thankfully, but I'm certain it will go quickly," she said with a sigh. "Actually, we should redo my kitchen."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"No one in my family is really all that great at cooking so I never bothered to get nice anything put in. Also, it's suffered from quite a few," she shrugged, "accidents. You're going to be the one using it now, though."

"You would do that?" he asked, actually stopping his cooking and turning to face her.

"Do what?"

"Accommodate like that for me," he said, walking to the island counter.

"Well," she said then paused as she searched for the proper explanation. "I want you to be comfortable."

"Huh," he said as he leaned his forearms onto the counter. He was looking at her with a soft, self-satisfied smile and his head tilted slightly. He looked like he'd figured out the answer to a riddle before anyone else had.

"What?" she asked, wondering what he was thinking.

"Nothing," he said and stood back up again.

"Alright," she said, letting it drop. "So what's the plan for Moscow?"

"I was thinking we could go Saturday and take public transportation into the city and walk where we need to," he answered as he returned to his cooking preparations.

"You're not going to tell me where we're going?"

"No, I'll make a list, but you'll see all of it," he said with a shrug.

"All of it?" she asked, feeling like this might have been a mistake.

"Most of it, the good parts," he amended.

"How long is this going to take?" she asked, teasing. "There's still only two days to a weekend."

"We'll take as many weekends as we need then," he said, smiling at her when he got the chance to turn and face her.

"You really want to do this," she said, excited and uncertain. Were they on the same page with this? How much was he really going to tell her? If he did, could she return the gesture in full in London?

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" he asked, throwing her a look of concern.

He had noticed. She wasn't sure if he was learning her tells or if she was opening up. She asked, "I meant, are you sure you want to? You'll be telling me an awful lot about yourself."

He was still for a moment. He sighed and turned to her. "Зайка моя (Zayka moya), it's fine. You'll already know some of it, and it's not like you can't get the information from somewhere else."

"That's not," she stopped and ran a hand through her hair. "It's not the same. It's…you're going to be telling me."

"I don't understand," he said, coming towards her.

She bit her lip and tried to think of an appropriate explanation. "I'm not asking you for a textbook on you. I'm asking you to tell me about yourself, what you've been through, what you remember, what you care about."

He crossed his arms. "I understand."

"And?" she asked, worried and watching him. "Do you still want to?"

He didn't respond for a moment. He nodded. "I'll tell you."

"Oh, good," she said, not quite sure what the protocol was for something like this. "Thank you."

He didn't really answer her after that and returned to his cooking. It took him several minutes to find his rhythm again.

She was going to have to be careful when they went to Moscow. She had to listen to him, follow through for him now that she'd asked this of him. More than that, she would reciprocate when they would visit London. She wanted to comfort him and tell him that it would be alright, that she could be trusted with the information he'd give her. She couldn't tell him that though. She had to show him.

They didn't talk anymore about Moscow during dinner. When they went to bed and he placed his hand on her waist, she pulled his hand forward and fitted his arm around her waist. He took it as an invitation to press forward and align himself along her back. She let him stay close and fell asleep leaning back onto his chest.

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><p>Originally this was just going to be like a bare bones chapter. I'd get England's cast off and the trips to Moscow would be brought up. Then England and Russia kind of had two moments. First, England's talking about changing her house to suit Russia without him asking her to. Secondly, she's asking Russia for information about himself. A nation showing someone around their capital cities is, I guess, something like bringing a person into anyall bedrooms you've lived in and telling them about the things you did in them. Some of that information could be used against him, especially considering it has the added personal touch of his private thoughts of events that occurred. That possibility it there in human relationships, but it's likely much more pronounced in nation ones.

Big steps people, things are happening. Also, I'm thinking this story might have to be split into a series, and I think I might end this one when they move into England's house. After that, I might spend that month instead of creating a chapter editing what I already have and maybe reorganizing the chapters. We'll have to see.

Please review!

(Also, because of ffnet's new character tagging system, if you're going to post RussiaxEngland don't tag America just to make it easier to find)


	26. Visiting Moscow

I have never been to Moscow. I did research, but still. I did not purposefully get anything wrong. If there's something wrong, politely let me know and I'll fix it.

Otherwise, please enjoy this incredibly long chapter. It was a pain to write.

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><p>That Saturday they woke early for the weekend. Russia was out of bed immediately and began bustling about the house at a near frantic pace to make sure they were ready for their day trip. She woke a little slower, almost regretting the decision to ask him about Moscow simply for the hour. She moved at a leisurely pace and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt for once. She even left her hair loose.<p>

"Hurry up," he told her when she came out of the bathroom.

"There's no rush," she responded, pulling her hair over her shoulder.

"I know, but I want to go," he said before turning to head downstairs again.

She followed him down and was surprised to find that he'd made her tea to go with a quick breakfast. He ate quickly and almost glared at her when she continued to sip her tea. Like she would ever gulp tea down regardless of how quickly he wanted to leave. "Come on," he told her, leading her out of the house.

Russia led the way to the nearest bus stop to take a bus to the metro. The streets were mostly empty at that hour, and England remembered the few other times she had wandered around Russia's neighborhood. They waited at the bus stop, and Russia paced in a circle.

"Relax," she told him. "We're not going to miss anything."

"How would you know?" he asked, coming to a stop right beside her. "I'm the one with the plan."

"The plan includes leeway for travel time, doesn't it?" she asked, smiling up at him.

He elbowed her gently. "I don't want to wait. We have a lot to see."

"It'll be fine," she said.

The bus arrived around a minute later. There was only one person on board aside from the driver. Russia scanned his card for the public transportation system once for each of them. They took seats towards the front. There was one stop before they reached the station, and more people joined them on the bus. Nearly everyone got off for the metro station. Russia had to scan his card twice more for them to pass the gates onto the platform.

The train arrived within minutes, and England secured a seat. Russia didn't sit, choosing to stand directly in front of her with one hand on the horizontal bar that was actually level with his head. "Where are we headed to first?" she asked as the train began to move.

"You'll see," he answered, more calm now that they were heading into the city.

At first she thought he was taking her to see the Red Square, but realized they weren't when he motioned for her to stand so they could step off the train. "This way," he told her.

The station was busy with people moving all around them, and England made sure to remain close to Russia. She wasn't familiar with Moscow's metro, and she didn't know where they were going. He led her to another platform to wait for a train that would show in a minute according to the board announcing arrival times.

The train arrived as the board said it would, and they boarded a train already half filled with people and no available seats. She held onto the nearest vertical pole at about elbow level, and He grabbed the pole just above her shoulder and stood right behind her. She stepped to the side to give him space and felt his hand at her back. She glanced up at him to see him looking back at her, and he raised his eyebrows. She shrugged as the doors to the train closed.

As they moved away from the city's centered, she brainstormed places they could be going to and listened to but hardly understood the Russian announcements. "We're getting off here," Russia said as the recorded voice spoke again.

She nodded, and they were out of the train as soon as the doors were opened. He led her up to ground level, and across a parking lot to wait for a bus. "Will you tell me where we're going now?" she asked.

"No, we're almost there," he said, shaking his head.

He motioned for her to follow him onto the first bus that arrived, swiping his card for them again. They took seats, and he told her, "We'll be getting off soon."

She nodded and stood up again when he did. The street they got off on was mostly empty of pedestrians, and almost walled by trees. "Where are we?"

"Come on," he told her, ignoring her question and walking quickly; easily pulling in front of her.

"Slow down," she said as she jogged to catch up with him.

"No, speed up,"

"No," she retorted and grabbed onto his shirt to try and slow him with drag.

He turned around to her and put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her along.

"Cheater."

He shook his head. "You started it."

"I started nothing. You were walking too fast,"

"It doesn't matter. We're here," he said, motioning with his free hand to a grand pink building with white pillars and a matching fence.

She shrugged. "Where's here?"

"What do you mean, where's here?" he asked, leaning away from her. "It's Ostankino Palace."

"I'm not familiar with it," she admitted sheepishly, rubbing her cheek.

"Well, at least you haven't been here before," he said, almost with a sigh. He shifted his arm into a more casual position over her shoulders, and thankfully walked at a normal pace.

"Why is it pink?" she asked as they neared the entrance through the gate.

"Because it is," he answered before pulling his arm away from her to talk to the teller. She rolled her eyes.

Russia and the teller spoke too quickly for her to understand very much of what they said. Russia handed over a credit card, and received it back along with tickets.

"Let's go," he said, smiling as he put his arm around her shoulders again.

They walked through the gate, and she wondered if he'd keep his arm where it was. It was almost too warm out for the contact, but she didn't really want him to move away. The entrance they used wasn't nearly as grand as the main entrance, but the foyer was impressively bright for lacking significant amounts of natural light.

Russia led her up the main stairs to the main level of the building, the walls pale yellow and blue. The palace was typical for the era it was created in, parquet wooden floors, decorated ceilings and fancifully wallpapered rooms. The furniture seemingly decorative rather than functional and statues and paintings wherever those caring for the palace now had seen fit to place them. She could imagine the sights from the windows being impressive centuries ago, and the views at the back of the palace overlooking the garden still were.

"It's impressive, honestly," she told him as she looked over the expanse of the garden. "But what about it made you want to show it to me? I've seen palaces before."

"I know you've been to some in Saint Petersburg, but this one is a little special," he said, motioning for her to follow him.

"How so?" she asked, trailing behind him to continue looking about.

"It has a private theater," he said.

"Really?" she asked, turning from the statue she was looking at.

"Yes, it still works. We've been keeping up with this place. I think it should be empty now. I can show you it, though," he said, smiling excitedly and motioning for her again.

"Alright," she said, focused on following him now.

"Here it is," Russia announced with a grin as he held open a mostly glass door.

"This is the theater?" she asked as she entered, laying eyes on the stage down low and in the center of the room.

"Yes, this is why we came here," he answered, closing the door behind them. There wasn't anyone else in the theater, but it was still well lit. The audience seating was tilted rather than the stage, and they were standing on almost a balcony above and behind the seating. A bannister separated them from the drop into the audience, and pillars held the ceiling high. She walked forward to the bannister to peer up at the rounded ceiling above the audience decorated in blue, cream, rose, and painted garlands and statues of winged beasts.

"It's beautiful. I can't believe this was someone's private theater," she commented, her eyes continuing to wander the room.

"The man who had this built, Nikolai Petrovich Sheremetev, was very wealthy. There's a story here, you know," he said, leaning his hands on the bannister.

"Really?" she asked, turning towards him.

"Yes, Sheremetev loved the theater," he said, looking towards the stage.

"That's not the story, is it?" she asked, following his gaze.

"No, there's more to it than that. This theater opened in the 1790s, and it was gifted with the talents of Praskovja Kovalev, a serf of the Sheremetev family who went by the stage name Zhemtchugova. She was a wonderful singer and actress. She first began performing in the 1770s. Sheremetev took her as his mistress in the decade following,"

He sighed then, tapped his thumbs on the bannister and smiled wistfully at the stage. He looked to her after a moment to check that she was still paying attention, signaling that this was maybe the good part of the story.

"Sheremetev was a member of the court in Saint-Petersburg, and Praskovja went with him to court. Around the time of the opening of this theater, he granted her freedom. Unfortunately, she had fallen ill and was unable to return to the stage. Sheremetev closed the theater soon afterwards. They married, here in Moscow, in secrecy soon after the turn of the century."

England leaned her hands onto the bannister beside his. "That's not the end. It's too happy."

He snorted. "Too happy, and it's not real. No, they weren't married for long. Praskovja died soon after in childbirth, and Nikolai had to bear the brunt of polite society rejecting him for marrying the woman he loved."

She tilted her head, trying to see more of his face as he studied the floor of the stage. "But it was nice, for the short time in the middle, yeah?"

"Yes, it was," he said, dropping his gaze and smiling slightly again.

After a moment, she stretched out her pinky to run it over his hand. "Did you know? About them when they were in court?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I knew who they were, talked to Sheremetev somewhat frequently and I heard her sing at least once, but I didn't know until it became public after everything had finished."

"What did you think then? How did you react?" she asked, thinking of the noblemen and court love stories she had heard about or caught gossip on over the years centuries ago.

"I don't remember. It did not really reach my radar then. I do wish she could have lived, though," he said then looked at her. "I wish I could remember her voice."

"I know what you mean," she said, thinking of the voices she could no longer hear in her head when she thought of their owners. There were so many lost.

They were silent for a moment, and England thought of something to change the mood. "Did all Russian lords like performers?"

"What? Performers?" he asked, sounding confused like he'd just woken up.

"Yes, Sheremetev liked a singer, and I know plenty of Tsars and lords favored ballerinas," she commented, remembering what little gossip she'd caught of Russian noblemen and their lovers in her court and his.

"Ballerinas are beautiful. What's wrong with thinking that?" he asked, frowning as he looked at her.

"Nothing," she said, holding back a laugh.

"Then why mention it?" he muttered, sounding grumpy.

"I was only noticing a theme," she said, chuckling now.

"Stop noticing," he said, pushing off the bannister. "Let's go out and see the gardens."

"Alright," she said, letting the topic drop though a question concerning a Russian lord who had complimented her by telling her she looked like a ballerina rested on the tip of her tongue.

Russia led the way out of the building to the exit that led out to the gardens behind the building.

"I think it's gotten hotter," she said as soon as the sun hit her skin.

"True, but it could be raining," he said with a shrug as he looked between two paths to follow.

"I don't mind rain," she said, noticing that he made a face at the comment, and pointed to the left. "Let's go that way."

"Okay," he said, moving at a comfortable pace for her. The garden was mostly made of trees and bushes, flower beds sprinkled in between them. The air smelled clean despite the garden still being within city limits and that cars could still be heard travelling beyond the palace. She paused every few paces to study the plants and walked with her hands tucked into her back pockets.

"Do you like it?" he asked, standing beside her whenever she stopped.

"Yeah, it reminds me of home," she said, sweeping the gravel on the path into a little mound with her foot. "I have a garden in the back, and I told my siblings to take care of it. Well, I mean, I told them to keep the schedule with the gardeners. I hope it's okay still."

"I always meant to have a garden, but I've never gotten around to it," he said with a shrug, leading her to the next intersection and choosing a direction to turn. "What do you grow in your garden?"

"Well, I really have two. One's for herbs, and the other is for flowering plants. I've got a gazebo, and it's absolutely covered in roses. I love it. I'll miss most of the blooming season, though," she said sadly, remembering how beautiful her garden had been the year before. She had spent every clear evening of that summer in the gazebo.

"Sorry," he said, looking away from her.

"No, it's fine," she said, though it wasn't really. She likely wouldn't be able to see much of her garden in bloom anymore, spending every summer with him in Russia. "Some of the roses should still be in bloom when we go back."

"How long have you had the garden?"

"A very long time. France isn't allowed in it anymore," she said, crossing her arms.

"Why?" he asked, smiling like he'd already guessed the answer.

"He kept stealing all of my roses," she said grumpily, still annoyed at all the cut stems she'd found in her garden.

Russia laughed and pulled her to him in a half hug. "Зайка моя (Zayka moya), how did you ever survive?"

"It's not funny," she retorted, wanting bristle while also wanting him to stay close.

"Yes, I know, you're only defending your roses," he said, giving her a squeeze. "Frogs in the rose beds would ruin the sight."

She smiled and felt it was alright to lightly put her hand on his back seeing as he didn't seem to be letting her go. "I'll give you a tour after we move into my house. I think you'll like the gazebo."

"Why is that?" he asked, nudging them into walking again.

"The light always hits it right. There's also a swinging bench inside, and it always smells good," she listed, thinking of the scent of roses, book pages, and calming tea guiding her into the night.

"It does sound nice," he mused, moving in closer to her as they walked.

"It's my favorite part of the garden," she said, wondering if it was perhaps her favorite part of her entire house.

"I can tell," he said, turning them down a different path. "I'll have to see it for myself."

They found another couple walking through the garden when they turned the corner. They were young and holding hands, and England realized how close she was to Russia. Their sides were almost touching, his arm around her shoulders, and her arm almost around his waist. The almost privacy of the garden was shattered, and England clenched her fist. Russia noticed, and looked down at her, loosening his hold.

England felt like her cheeks were burning, and she removed her arm entirely from Russia. She began to tuck her hair behind her ears, and she avoided the gaze of the other couple. Russia moved away from her and only just kept his hand on her back. "Let's go," she said quietly to him.

He nodded and they took a path leading away from the couple and back towards the palace. "Do you have another place in mind to visit?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair.

"Yeah, it'll be lunch time by the time we get there anyways," he said, glancing behind them towards the couple. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said, shaking her head.

The jitters of being spotted began to dissipate. They went around the palace to reach the street. England was completely calm again despite being still a little embarrassed by the time a bus arrived to take them back to the metro. They descended to the metro platform and took a train back towards the center of the city, having to switch trains this time as well. When they reached ground level again, the street was filled with other people.

"Where are we?" she asked, tempted to hold onto him again.

"We're near Arbat Street. A lot of the surviving old buildings are in this area of the city so a lot of tourists come here," he said, cutting through the moving people for her.

"Oh, are we just going to walk around then?" she asked, glaring at a teenaged boy who bumped into her.

"I have a destination in mind for right now, but we can afterwards," he told her, stopping at a corner. "We're going to cross here."

She followed him along several streets, across more of them, and around a number of corners. She kept her eyes mostly on the buildings around her. There was quite a bit of variety in the architecture. Some buildings were obviously centuries old, and others only a handful of decades old. Most of them were quaint, worn into homely states. Russia was careful to tug on her arm whenever she became too caught up in the buildings to follow him.

"Here we are," he announced cheerfully as he pulled open a door to a shop on the first floor of a brick building. He seemed pleased himself, a wide smile across his face.

She cast him a wary look, but stepped inside. The smell hit her first. She breathed in the scent of teas, black teas the strongest and most easily identifiable. The floors were dark wood, and the walls were still brick. There was a counter encircling the back corner with many shelves of different kinds of teas on the walls. There were pastries displayed underneath the counter, and small tables filled in the rest of the shop's floor space.

"Can we buy it?" she asked, standing almost in awe of the place.

"The tea, of course," he said, looking at her in confusion.

"No, I meant the shop," she said, pointing to the counter and the walls of tea behind it.

He sighed. "England, we're not going to buy you a tea shop."

"Why not?" she asked as he walked towards the counter.

"No," he told her as he joined the line to the counter.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Are we going to get real food after this?"

"Do you want real food?" he asked.

"You're going to want real food," she pointed out, eyeing his stomach.

"Then we can go somewhere else afterwards," he said easily. "What do you want?"

"What all do they have?"

He rattled off a list of teas, each seemingly more extravagant than the last. "I'll just have the black tea with the chocolate and strawberries," she said, picking the one thing she had latched onto.

"Got it," he said, and ordered for them when it became their turn. The cashier spoke with him amicably, but again far too quickly for England to make much sense of their Russian.

"What do you want to eat?" Russia asked halfway through ordering, looking over to her.

"Oh, the, uh, dark chocolate torte," she answered.

"Alright," he said, turning back to the cashier. The cashier pulled out the dark chocolate torte on a small white plate and another plate with a lemon bar. Russia paid, and the cashier thanked him.

"You can pick out a table, and I can get the teas," Russia told her as he handed the plates off to her.

She nodded and moved away from the counter to pick a clean table by the wall. She grabbed silverware and napkins before sitting down and waiting for Russia to come with the teas. After a short while, he sat down across from her and handed her a mug of tea. "Thank you," she told him.

She blew across the top of the tea to cool the steaming liquid before taking a small sip to taste. She didn't taste much for the heat, but it was all there, the dark tea, chocolate, and strawberries.

"Don't drink just yet," Russia warned her before taking a bite of his lemon bar. "You'll burn your tongue."

"I'll scald it is what I'll do," she corrected and blew across her tea again, feeling the tip of her tongue becoming numb. "I just want to taste it."

"You won't taste it if you keep trying to drink it now," he said, pointing at her mug with his fork.

She sipped the tea again anyways, tasting more of it this time. It was deliciously bitter and delightfully warm. "The chocolate is a little strong, but it's good," she said.

She looked up to see Russia frowning at her. "It is good," she said, holding the mug against her lips to be able to easily smell the tea.

She leaned back in her chair and watched as Russia ate, his eyes wandering the room and sometimes resting on other patrons. She stretched out her legs and rested one against Russia. His eyebrows rose, and he turned to look at her. She smiled behind her cup. He shifted his legs so that the leg she'd put against his was now trapped between both of his legs. She mock glared at him and took another sip of her tea, enjoying the strawberry flavor. She hooked the ankle of her free foot over the trapped one's and therefore put one of Russia's legs loosely between hers.

They sat quietly together with their legs loosely intertwined. She listened to the soft conversations occurring around her and occasionally makes eye contact with Russia over the edges of their mugs. She decided to start on her torte and moved to sit up properly to eat. She had forgotten Russia's legs around hers and her foot knocked into his. She almost jumped at the contact and set down the mug before continuing to lever herself into an upright sitting position.

Russia shifted in his seat as well, moving his legs. The inside of his knee brushed along hers and sent a jolt up her spine. He continued to shuffle his legs until they were crossed at the ankle with her leg resting in the wedge created between them. They were both leaning in towards the center of their small table, sitting on the edge of their chairs, and their legs tangled underneath.

She didn't know what to think about him not letter her pull her leg away. She pushed away the confusion and picked up her fork to eat her torte. It was just as excellent as the tea, but she felt like she could hardly taste it for the all the attention she was diverting towards their legs. It took effort to swallow, and Russia didn't even seem to notice; eyes wandering again with his mug in hand. She swore her cheeks were flushing, and she wished he would at least acknowledge what he'd done and looked at her. She was nearly finished with her torte when he did look at her. She didn't know what to say about it and looked away. She let their legs be and focused on her food and tea, surreptitiously keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching them.

He shifted his leg, his knee moving up to her thigh for a moment, and she wanted to hide her face and push his knees away. He couldn't possibly be that close to her, allowed to be that close to her. She moved to pull her legs together, but Russia's leg stopped them from meeting. He looked at her then, confused and setting down his mug.

She cleared her throat. "Let's go."

"You're done?" he asked, parting his legs and releasing hers.

She pulled her feet in immediately and drank the last of her tea. "I am."

"Alright," he said, getting to his feet.

They sat their dishes and silverware into a bucket laid out for customers, and they returned to the street. Russia picked a direction, and he lead her around the district. She didn't mention the areas he cleared avoided, focusing instead on the buildings around them and whatever comments he had to offer. England's feet were in pain by the time five o'clock rolled around, and she asked Russia if they could stop for dinner. They were seated a table and given menus within an hour. They talked little during dinner, and England made sure to give Russia foot room. After that round of food, England no longer wished to walk.

"We can head home now, right?" she asked as soon as they were out of the restaurant.

"If you want," he said.

"Yes, please," she said emphatically. "Which way is home?"

"This way," he said, taking the lead again.

She followed him closely, but still ended up bumping into someone. "Sorry," she mumbled before looking up to see that she had actually run into a street lamp.

She covered her mouth as Russia laughed beside her. "Come on, let's get you home," he said gently, wrapping an arm around her again and pulling her in close.

She swore she felt his chin on top of her head for a moment. He guided her through the streets and down into the metro with an arm around her shoulders, and he didn't release her once they were on a train. She pressed against him, but if anyone asked she wouldn't admit to leaning against him as they stood in the crowded car. She ignored all the people around them as best she could and was relieved to see the car empty the further they got from the city center.

When they got off the bus in Russia's neighborhood, he seemed just as exhausted. "We're almost there," he told her, continuing to keep her within arm's reach.

She had to say, Russia's home had never looked more inviting when they returned to it. He unlocked the door, and they both moved towards the nearest seating.

"That was brutal," England moaned as she collapsed onto the couch just to get her weight off her aching feet.

"I know," he agreed, dropping down beside her and placing his arms on the back of the couch and stretching out his legs until they almost reached the coffee table.

She sniggered. "No wonder your tables are all so far away."

"What?" he asked, looking over at her with raised eyebrows.

"You take up so much space," she said, pointing at his feet.

"I know," he replied, turning his foot for a moment before letting it rest, "but it's my house so I can stretch out all I want."

"That might be a bit of a problem in my house," she commented, finally deciding to kick off her shoes even if her feet had gotten a little sweaty and probably smelled.

"Why?" he asked.

"My house isn't that much smaller than yours," she said as she pulled her feet up onto the couch and her knees towards her chest, "but I've kind of been filling it up with stuff…since my siblings moved out."

"How long ago was that?" he asked, adjusting to turn a little more towards her.

"A couple hundred years ago now, when they got their own parliaments," she said with a short shrug.

"That was a long time ago," he said, staring off again and likely thinking of other things that had happened during that time.

"Yes, but I manage to collect a lot of things," she said, pulling out her ponytail as she spoke, "and even though I'm not quite fondly remembered by all of my former colonies, I still manage to end up with a lot of gifts from them."

"Really?" he asked, looking back at her.

"Yes, mostly from the Commonwealth, but from others and from allies," she answered with a shrug.

"I've sent you a few gifts," he said, as if suddenly realizing it, "Did you keep them?"

"I don't know if I've kept all of them, but I kept the matryoshka dolls you gave me after Operation Overlord," she told him, seeing where she had last put them in her mind's eye.

"I remember them," he replied with a small smile.

"Did you send anything to America after that?" she asked him.

"No, I sent her gift to Canada," he responded, his smile growing, and then added, "purposefully."

England giggled for a moment at that. "I didn't realize you didn't like her then," she said, resting her cheek on her knee.

He stopped smiling and looked down. He then looked back up to her and said, "I didn't always like you then either."

"I know," she said, closing her eyes for a moment, "but you didn't always not like me."

He gave her a challenging look. She only smiled back at him. "Time for bed," he announced, pushing himself off the couch and forcing himself to his feet.

"I don't want to walk anymore," she complained, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"We've got more to see tomorrow, though," he reminded her, standing in front of her.

"I know," she bemoaned, getting to her feet as well. She shooed him with her hand out of her way and picked up her shoes. They walked upstairs side by side, but didn't say anything else. She dropped her shoes at the foot of their bed. She readied for bed, feeling sleepy and groggy.

She crawled slowly into bed. She heard Russia chuckling at her, but she ignored him. He finished getting ready for bed and crawled in beside her.

"Sleep well," he whispered, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her back against his chest.

"Night" she mumbled as she shifted into a comfortable position against him and put her hand over his. She idly traced the raised veins on the back of his hand, thinking of the vines growing in her garden, before falling asleep.

* * *

><p>So yeah, they basically had a day long date in Moscow. That said, this was a terrible idea to try and do. It's great for their progression, but this was a terrible mistake on my part. I'm not writing about places I've never been to again.<p>

But anyways, wonderful things happened. I hope the setting and story is at least mostly accurate. I'm now also really excited for them to get to use England's gazebo.

For the other writers, I'm going to make the executive decision and suggest that if we post a Russiaxfem!England fic we put Ringland into the summary so whoever wants to read RussiaxFem!England, they'll be able to find it. The summaries of all my Russiaxfem!England will be changed to suit this. That's it for announcements.

Please review!


	27. Time Management

So I wrote this chapter in an attempt to be descriptive of actions and show things more than tell them. I think some parts definitely came out better than others. Constructive criticism would definitely be appreciated on this chapter.

* * *

><p>Russia had left for work with a bright smile, and a hand lingering on her shoulder that Monday morning. However, he returned and nearly slammed the door behind him on his way in. England watched without words as he practically flung his things aside and went directly to cooking without telling her anything. His movements were quick and sharp, and she thought he nicked a finger while cutting the vegetables. She didn't sit down and stood warily by the counter.<p>

"Is something wrong?" she asked, tapping her hand on the counter once, twice before accepting its support.

"Nothing," he said immediately, shaking his head and roughly pulling out a pan. He had talked about making stir fry.

"It…doesn't seem like it," she said slowly as she took careful steps towards him.

"It's nothing. There's nothing to talk about," he said, waving a hand and not even looking at her.

She clenched her jaw, hoping that meant that whatever had gone wrong was not the legislation that finalized the political side of their marriage. Votes were nearing on the bills in both of their legislative branches. It was much too late for something to go wrong.

She took her seat and placed her hands gingerly on the counter. Russia clenched his jaw, frowned every so often, and curled his hands into fists and released them again. His cooking was harried and choppy, and he occasionally set utensils down too hard. He served their meal and ate like a vacuum. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, eating slowly to attempt to hide when she paused to study him. "I'm sorry," he told her, getting up mere minutes after sitting down. "But I have some work to finish."

She felt a flash of panic and nearly reached out for him as he left, thoughts leaping to those bills. She dropped her shoulders and forced herself to return to her meal after running a hand over her face. Her chest felt heavy, and the food tasted blander and drier than it had the minute before. She mostly pushed her food around on her plate before giving up. After clearing her place, she went back to her laptop to check the news. Nothing seemed to be wrong, but the heaviness in her chest turned her stomach. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and told herself to leave it alone. She had to trust that Russia would tell her if something was going poorly regarding the legislation.

She retreated to their bedroom earlier than she usually did. She undid her hair and ran her fingers through the loosened strands. She pulled a book off the shelf and climbed onto their shared bed. She arranged the pillows against the headboard to her liking. She curled up and read, using a story to chase away useless anxieties. Still, she couldn't stop herself from looking up to the doorway every few minutes. Every time she saw the doorway empty, she sighed and turned back to her book. She turned each page more listlessly than the last, and eventually fell into reading lines over and over again. She had her bedside lamp on by the time she finally gave up and set the book aside.

She readied for bed, and washed her face to keep herself calm. She expected Russia to join her in a matter of minutes. He didn't arrive, and she could feel the minutes slowly passing as she laid silently in the dark. It felt like eyes were watching her back without him behind her. She checked the time, much later than they usually went to bed, and decided to look for him.

She found him in the dining room after a few moments of searching. He had only the wall sconces on behind him, and shadows crawled across the area before him. He was sitting at the head of the sturdy oak table, cradling a half full glass with a half full bottle of vodka sitting in front of him. He only glanced up at her before looking back at his glass.

"Something's happened. What is it?" she asked gently and quietly as she walked towards him. She pulled out the chair next to him and sat down.

He sighed while still staring at his glass as he tilted it in his hand. "Nothing major, it's just, do you remember when I told you I worked more before I married you?" he asked, looking up at the end of his sentence and the light making the shadows under his eyes more pronounced.

"Yes," she answered with a nod. She had dragged him out of the meeting when he had told her that. Too much time had passed for that to be a problem.

"I used to put in a lot of time, and I've done that for centuries," he said with a one shouldered shrug. "It's become expected of me."

He ran his free hand over the side of his jaw. "Now that I'm not meeting expectations, it's become a problem."

She clenched her hands together, relief of the trouble not being about the bills drowned entirely. She looked around the room, not that an answer could be found there. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead swiped her tongue over her lips. "I should let you think it over," she said slowly, voice thick.

She put her hands on the arms rests and pushed the chair back.

"No," he said, suddenly, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist. "Stay, please."

"Alright," she said, trying to slow her heartbeat with breathing alone as she eased her fingers off the arm rests. He didn't let go of her though his hold loosened.

"I," he said before breaking off quickly, blinking rapidly. He lifted her wrist and pulled into onto the table to rest their hands between them. "I want to know what you think, need to know what you want."

"It's not my decision," she said, shaking her head and trying to pull her wrist from his grip. There were more than enough issues just between them, and everything had been going so well.

"No, I'm not asking that," he said, setting the glass against his forehead for a moment and releasing her wrist. "I need to know in order to make an informed decision."

She felt her stomach sink, anything she could say would be wrong. She shook her head and dug her fingers into her hair. "I don't know."

He sighed and set his glass on the table, but didn't let it go. "England," he said, sounding both exasperated and mournful.

"What?" she asked, her tone coming out sharper than she intended.

"Are you really alright with me working late?" he asked, looking her in the eyes. They were bluer in the low light than they usually were, and he certainly looked like he wanted to sleep. He tilted his head, still waiting for her answer.

"Well, no," she admitted slowly, lowering her eyes. "I'd prefer it if you didn't do that."

She looked up at him cautiously.

"Alright, that's all I wanted to know," he said, leaning back and pushing his bangs back with his free hand. He held his hand over his forehead for a moment, pressing his thumb and third finger against his temples.

"We can go to bed now," he said, pulling his hand from his head. He looked over to the glass of vodka still sitting on the table.

She sighed and leaned her forearms against the table. "Drink half and I'll finish the rest off."

"You really want to do that?" he asked, looking to her as he picked up the glass.

"Not really," she said, taking it from him. "Do you really want to drink it all?"

He downed approximately half the glass then held it out towards her. She plucked it gingerly from his hold and finished the rest of it. She couldn't stop herself from shaking her head and pursing her lips at the taste.

"Not really," he confessed as he pulled the glass from her hand.

"Then it's fine," she said, pressing her hands onto the arm rests to push herself up. "Time for bed."

"Alright," he said, and screwed the top back onto the bottle. He got up and walked around to her, leaving both the bottle and the glass at the head of the table. She looked between him and the alcohol, and then let it be. Once she was out of the room, he flicked out the lights in the dining room. Only a hall light remained on, and shadows hid most of the space and dimmed what little light was left. She started towards the stairs regardless, but slowed when she felt Russia's arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry this had to happen after visiting Moscow," he told her, his voice seemingly dampened by the silence.

"It's alright," she said, placing her hand on his arm.

They walked up to their room together in silence. Exhaustion rested on England's eyelids and dug into her shoulders. She fumbled a step and jostled Russia.

"Careful," he said, tightening his grip on her.

"I'm fine. It's just dark and I'm a little tired," she explained automatically.

"A little," he scoffed.

"Hush,"

"I'll be ready in a little bit," he told her once they were in their bedroom, already unbuttoning his shirt before grabbing pajamas.

"Okay," she said, returning to the bed. Strain ebbed from tense muscles as she lay down and pulled the sheet over herself. He joined her in bed minutes later, turning off the light before lying down on his back and releasing a deep sigh.

She turned to face him and tapped his arm. "It'll work out. Just give your boss time to adjust."

"My boss doesn't like adjustments," he muttered, rolling over to face her.

"Oh, that could be a problem," she said, stroking her finger along his arm.

"We should stop talking about it," he said, putting a hand over hers.

"Alright, good night then," she said, snuggling closer towards him and closing her eyes.

"Come closer," he murmured.

Her eyes snapped open. "Why?"

"Because I want to be closer to you," he said, putting his arm over her waist like he usually did. "I'm going to have to work longer no matter what I do, and I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"How would I get the wrong idea about that?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "Our work's important, and we have to do it."

"Of course," he responded tiredly. "But I meant the hours I'll have to work. Don't you think this marriage is important, too?"

"It's become more important than I thought it would," she admitted softly.

"Come closer then," he coaxed.

She blushed, lifting her hand off his arm for a moment before setting it down again. "I'll pull you closer," he teased, tapping on her back with his fingers.

"Don't," she responded.

"Alright, I won't," he promised.

She pushed herself towards him, putting a hand on his neck as she settled. "Good."

"Not the neck," he said, twisting his head.

"Sorry," she said, pulling her hand away and feeling a scar she couldn't remember having seen.

"It's fine," he replied, shifting towards her and pulling her a little closer. She shifting to accommodate, tucking her hands in close and moving her knees carefully. The breadth of her shoulders reached barely three quarters of the height his did, and she fit so easily under his arm. Her arms were trapped between them, and she tried to find a place to settle them but only succeeded in running her palms across his chest.

He began to chuckle, his chest shaking beneath her hands. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to get comfortable," she answered sharply as her blush darkened.

"You don't have to stop," he told her, amusement still hanging on his words.

"Go to sleep," she ordered, setting her chin.

He stopped chuckling and shifted forwards, touching his forehead to hers. "Alright."

"Your breath smells like alcohol," she complained.

"So does yours, but I wasn't telling you," he countered, rubbing his head against hers.

She made a noise of displeasure and put a hand on his chin. "Stop."

"Fine," he said.

He pulled back and her hand slid from his chin. It hung in the air for a moment before she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding him to her. "Comfortable, now?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, closing her eyes.

"Good,"

It felt different to be facing him, closer and warmer. She could feel his chest moving as he breathed. She had his shirt in her hand, and she could pull him closer. She had already run her hands over his chest, and she could do it again; act on her attraction to him. Russia continually putting his hand on her waist at night gained more depth, and stilled her hands. He had said not to stop, but that was said too jokingly to be enough. Facing him was more than plenty, and her blush was still fading. She fell asleep tracking the rise and the fall of his chest.

She woke to their alarm clock. She lay on her back, and Russia had curled an arm around her and had nearly tucked his head in against her shoulder. He stretched out beside her, and she could feel him shifting along her side.

"You can take the first shower," she told him tiredly, patting his arm.

"Thanks," he said dryly, patting her on the hip once before sitting up.

"Hey," she said, smacking him lightly on his side before rolling away from him.

He pulled the sheet off her before getting out of bed.

"Rude," she retorted, curling up rather than admitting defeat and getting out of bed.

He flicked on the light to the bathroom which landed right on her face, and that was enough to get her out of bed. She went about her morning routine as normal, forgetting that today Russia would be negotiating with his boss. She remembered when she noticed that he was watching her put in her earrings as he hadn't ever done that before.

"Is there something you need?" she asked, turning to him.

"No, I don't need it," he said, walking slowly towards her. "But I would like a hug."

"Alright," she said, and he smiled.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she put her arms around his waist. She felt his cheek on the top of her head, and his hands pressed gently against her back. She soaked in all she could; his solid presence, his warmth, and even his scent. She gave him a slight squeeze and murmured to him, "Good luck."

He gripped her then, pressing his fingertips into her skin and tightening his arms around her. He relaxed slowly, almost leaning into her for a moment, before pulling away with a heavy sigh. "Thanks."

He clenched his jaw and still kept the tips of his fingers on her arms. "Don't worry," she told him lightly, and began to fix his tie though it didn't need it. "I'll still see you this evening."

He smiled, looked down then back up. "I'll try to be back in time to make dinner. I might be a little late, though."

"Don't worry about it," she said, reluctantly pulling her hands away.

"Alright, I have to go," he said quietly, running his hands down her arms. "I'll see you later."

"Bye," she told him as he left the room. She sighed harshly then returned to her morning routine, frowning into her mirror.

* * *

><p>Again, constructive criticism would be appreciated. Regardless, they do seem to be getting somewhere relationship wise.<p>

Please review (especially as like no one did after I wrote that last huge chapter)!


	28. Legislation

Thanks to KorosuKa to beta-reading this!

There will be swearing in this chapter. I'll also explain a little bit of the political stuff at the end.

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><p>England woke to the annoying sound of Russia's alarm clock bleeping. "How is it morning already?" she grumbled as she pulled the sheet up and snuggled in again.<p>

"The same way it usually is," Russia murmured, rubbing her back before sitting up.

"And tomorrow we'll be able to sleep in," she said, smilingly sleepily. "After a very long week."

"We went to bed early last night,"

"Yes, but we didn't actually sleep,"

"You didn't mind it at the time," he chuckled and pushed himself out of bed. "And besides, we have to make it through today first. It's a big day,"

"Yes, our marriage legislation goes through today," she said, sitting up and stretching.

"We hope,"

"It has to happen," she said, rolling out of bed to peep out of the window. "Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning."

"It's a good thing we're not shepherds then," he returned before entering the bathroom. She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see. She showered after him and came downstairs as he was finishing breakfast. He'd even put on water to boil for her morning cup of tea.

"I have to get going," he told her before rinsing his dishes.

"Good luck,"

He nodded, and she imagined how easy it would be to reach up, pull him close, and give him a kiss goodbye. She looked down to her cup.

"Good luck to you as well. I'll see you this evening," he told her as he moved towards the door.

"Bye," she called after him as he left.

She heard the door shut and sighed into her tea. Now she had a few hours to wait before Parliament would vote on the legislation as anxiety curled in stomach. She headed up to her office anyways. She allowed herself a moment to slouch back against her chair before booting up her laptop.

England set down her tea and cracked her back before logging on to her email. Her boss had promised to deliver the news of the vote in Parliament. The treaty between her government and Russia's had breezed through months early, and this bill was the last of the follow through. Immigration reform specific to Russians, trade reform specific to the Russian Federation, and extradition of Russian criminals were all important steps if somewhat minimal policy measures at the moment. No politician could hope for miracles despite the general positive attitude towards Russia from the English public. Honestly, the bill was a heavier weight across her shoulders than Russia hardly being home for the past week. Russia was enjoyable company, but she needed her Parliament and public to go along with this.

She didn't have any new emails, and she needed something to do before Parliament voted. Session wouldn't begin for some time, and the legislation would be the first order of business. She opened up new windows for working on her old standby when she didn't have politicians heckling her. She rewrote administration procedures to make them more streamline and clear as bureaucrats had a habit of piling rules on top of one another rather than actually fixing procedure. The prime minister had to approve the changes, and her current boss usually put them through.

She worked until the time made her antsy. The vote could be finished at any minute, and her boss had promised to email her the verdict. She continually refreshed her email as she tapped her fingers against her desk. She stood and walked around the room to dispel energy before sitting down again. Her email pinged, and she jumped. The email was from her boss, and she quickly opened it. It read 'it passed'.

She clapped her hands together and sank back against her chair in relief. She pressed her fingers to her lips and breathed deeply. She sprung up again with sudden energy and began pulling up news sites, English and Russian, to get a feel for the reaction. Nothing would show immediately, but articles seeped news to the public quickly enough. Little bubbled up from the Russian sites, but she easily brushed that off, assuming they would respond after the vote in the Russian Federal Assembly in a few hours. The English news expressed optimism with a fair edge of caution from politicians and pundits. If she concentrated she could feel a pleasant warmth at the back of her head and down her spine and underneath her skin, the sign of at least a content populace and fainter after so much time spent in Russia than during her last visit to London.

She breathed in deep, but still felt some anxiety left in her chest. She needed Russia to pass the legislation, especially now that the legislation had passed through Parliament. If it passed, they could both relax and not need to worry so much about the highly politicized and policy based portion of their marriage. She returned to rewriting procedures, but couldn't stop herself from looking up every few minutes to check the news. The minutes dragged into hours, and she stopped working; focusing on the news sites entirely. Her stomach sank, her chest coiled, and she kept running a hand over her cheek and pushing her bangs back from her face.

She forced herself up from her computer and snatched her tea cup before leaving the room. She walked briskly down to the kitchen and immediately put water on to boil. She paced around the island as she waited for the water. She distractedly made her tea and couldn't force herself back upstairs now that she was down in the kitchen. She took her seat at the counter and held her cup between her hands too tightly to call it cradling. She took small sips, setting her cup against the counter during the interims without removing her hands. She rinsed out her cup when she'd finished, set it at the bottom of the sink, and took a deep breath. "Please be wrong," she told herself, looking through the window at the dark clouds forming.

She returned to her computer and refreshed the news sites. The Federal Assembly hadn't passed the legislation, and her stomach dropped. She sucked in a breath and closed the tab. "Shit," she whispered, covering her eyes with her hands.

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!"

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she fisted her hands in her hair. "_No_."

Her email pinged, and she looked up; gritting her teeth. She opened the new email to find words of consolation from one of her politicians, and she scowled. She didn't respond to it, too tempted to curse him out, but another email showed up regardless. She scanned it to find more polite condolences. She deleted it as five more emails appeared in her inbox. Each letter followed the same formal pattern, and she might as well not have read them. She deleted them all as she rubbed at her eyes and struggled to keep her breathing even, lips trembling. The next one, the English politician condescended to her brutally; told her they had expected this from Russia, told her she should have expected it from Russia, told her everything had been a mistake, told her to pull out while she could. She knew this man and England could imagine, too clearly, the politician's oil slicked tone and the words burned like embers in her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth and stifled herself, pulling away from the screen.

Knuckles to the jaw would have been kinder.

She practically slammed her laptop closed and got up, preparing to leave the room. She paused almost to the door, shook out her hands, and returned to her laptop. She closed her email but brought up the news sites. She needed to hear her people; she needed to know what they thought. She found out immediately. Articles used strong words and harsher phrases, and the English comments beneath them sprung up exponentially; most featuring creative cursing. She felt their anger, hot and sharp on the back of her neck. She exited out of the browser and slowly closed her laptop, swallowing too thickly.

She ground her teeth together and ran her hand over the back of her neck as she walked downstairs to wait for Russia's eventually return home. He unfortunately did not arrive quickly, allowing her time to mull over which particular words she would use as she forced her anger to build. That politician had been right after all. She should have prepared for this, and now her people were upset. When the door opened, she glared at Russia as he entered. "You passed nothing?" she asked him as harshly as she could, and she curled her hands into fists.

"England," he began, looking down and not at her. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it," she bit out, taking a step towards him. "Immigration, trade, and extradition, none of it. I already knew this would be somewhat to my disadvantage even if we both passed the legislation. I've lost American investment just over the treaty, and everyone knows you've struggled with even keeping domestic investment. Now, you've just dumped a whole new set of issues on top of me."

"I tried," he countered, looking up enough for her to tell that he had clenched his jaw.

"Obviously, you didn't try hard enough. Telling me you're sorry, telling me you tried," she said, stalking towards him. "Doesn't change the fact that you failed to pass the legislation. Saying you're sorry doesn't change the law."

"I have been hounding literally every politician for the past month, England," he told her, glaring at her and standing as tall as he can.

"I don't care what you've done," she spat at him, raising her voice slightly. "It didn't work."

"I'll fix it. I'll take care of it," he promised her, throwing his arms out.

She laughed cruelly. "Why even bother? Honestly, I shouldn't have been surprised. It's not the first time you've done something like this."

He pushed his way into her space then, getting far too close, but she refused to give ground. "That was unnecessary."

"It's true," she said, tossing up her hand flippantly.

He caught her hand, and practically growled at her. "I understand why you're angry, alright? But don't say things like that. I can get the legislation passed."

"Don't touch me," she snapped, pulling her hand from his. "You know what? Maybe this was a mistake. Everything would have been much easier if I'd told you no."

"This wasn't a mistake," he said, scowling for the first time she could remember. He continued, "I'd forgotten how cruel you can be when you're angry."

She scoffed. "You only came to me to run from your sister. If you have regrets now, you should have picked a wiser path much earlier."

"Then what were you running from?" he snapped. "There wasn't anyone after you. Was it loneliness?"

She swallowed hard and moved away from him. "Don't be such a fool. You weren't even the first person to propose to me."

"What?" he asked, rearing back and staring at her with wide eyes. "Who?"

"That's not your business. Just know; you're mucking up the only chance you've got. Don't bother me for at least the rest of today, and don't expect anything to change by tonight," she said, horrified at hearing her voice break in the middle of the sentence and needing to end this before tears began spilling over.

She turned on her heel and walked away. She realized she didn't have a place to go and be alone when she reached the top of the stairs. Anxiety burst in her, like pinpricks running up her back. She turned away from the bedroom and returned to her office. She made sure to lock the door behind her. She sat down heavily in her chair and swiped a hand over her jaw, anger already wiped from her system though her people's still pricked her neck. Her phone rang, startling her, and she couldn't locate it for a moment. She found it where she'd left it on the corner of her desk, and picked up the call immediately.

"England, I just heard. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Portugal asked, words rushing out. "I called you three times."

"I'm fine. I just didn't have my phone on me," she said, forcing her voice to hold steady. She straightened her back and crossed her legs at the ankle.

"Are you sure? This is a big deal," Portugal said warily.

"I know, but it's," she shook her head and put a hand to her forehead. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, okay," she said, retreating somewhat. "How about a distraction?"

"I don't need a distraction," she answered, frowning. "Don't you still have work?"

"You know that politician I was telling you about the last time we talked with his really annoying group of, you call them lobbyists, don't you? You remember them?" she asked.

"Yeah, there were a lot of Portuguese curses in that conversation," she answered, feeling like she could breathe a little better.

"I have a meeting with them so really providing a distraction is just a win-win situation for everyone,"

"What did you have in mind?" she asked, dropping into a slouch.

"I've found a new online RPG. It's got bows and arrows as a weapons option."

England's lips twitched towards a smile. "Alright, what's it called?"

She opened up her laptop again. She'd take about anything over sitting alone with a public's anger for company.

"I'll send you a link," Portugal answered.

"I'll put you on speaker so we can keep talking," England told her, pulling up her email again and ignoring every unopened letter except for Portugal's.

England didn't spend much time on creating her account or character for the game. Portugal talked her through everything, adding commentary. England focused on the game as best she could while she could still remember the burning words from earlier and the back of her neck still felt too hot. She always kept her ears open in case Russia walked passed for any reason. Within an hour, she had lost track of what Portugal was talking about. She didn't know what she was doing within the game and no longer cared for it, and she had exhausted herself struggling to keep a straight face.

"I think I messed up," she admitted, pulling herself away from her laptop and turning off speaker phone.

"What? No, you didn't. You've gone up a level haven't you?" Portugal asked, still half lost in whatever she had been talking about.

"Not in the game. With," she paused to take a deep breath. "Russia."

"What did you do? If you don't mind sharing," she prompted.

"I might have mentioned that he hasn't followed through before,"

"I don't need to explain to you how bad of a move that was,"

"It's true,"

"Of everyone, so there was no need to go flinging that in his face."

"That wasn't all of it,"

"I told you your temper would shoot you in the foot,"

"I know, just let me get through it," she pleaded, resting her elbows on her desk.

"Alright, I'm not here to upset you,"

"I, also, might have implied that this," she waved her hand around even though Portugal couldn't see it. "Marriage was a mistake."

"Is it?"

"Probably, politicians are sucking up to me, but the public is spitting fire. I wanted to avoid this. I don't think it's going to subside soon," she admitted, threading her fingers through her hair and forcing herself to take deep breaths.

"People generally are…fickle,"

"I also informed him that he was not the first person to propose to me," she added, keeping her tone neutral.

"Normally I would ask why that matters because after all you did reject the other person, but it probably came into the conversation just so you could hit him where it hurts,"

"You know me well. He said I was lonely so I proved him otherwise," England said tiredly, massaging her forehead.

"Yeah, there could be a blind side in that case. You don't sound that mad, though. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine. I was just mad at him because my people were. Portugal, I'm still living in his house. I have to sleep in his bed. We agreed to it."

"That is a problem. Maybe you should apologize for at least the first thing."

"I don't want to," England responded stubbornly, mostly out of a desire to avoid him entirely. "Even if he did get this legislation through by like next week, it wouldn't be soon enough. I'm going to have to deal with it for months, and every time we try to change legislation on our marriage afterwards."

"He's going to have to deal with all of that, too. It's only going to get worse if you don't apologize."

"Stop making sense," she said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry? You still want this to work, right?"

"I don't," England cut herself off. She ran her fingers over her lips then whispered. "I just had such high hopes."

"It'll be alright. Nothing too bad has happened yet. It'll turn out okay."

"No, it won't," England snapped then took a shuddering breath and wiped her fingers across her eye. "I'm not like you, Portugal. I don't do these kinds of things well."

"England, you've blown up at him before. He knew that before he married you. You've gotten mad at me before. It's not the end of the world."

England looked up towards the ceiling and sighed. She didn't have the words to explain how wrong she felt about the situation. "Fine."

"Think you can handle an apology now?"

"I might as well try," she said, sucking in a breath.

"Good luck, and call me tomorrow," Portugal told her before hanging up.

England set her phone back on the desk and left the room. She tip toed her way downstairs and found Russia on the phone in the living room. He sat on the edge of the chair with his elbows on his knees, and his free hand covered his forehead. She leaned against the doorframe and waited, rolling her tongue in her mouth as she tried to swallow down her misgivings. Russia noticed her after a moment, looked up and pushed his hand up and back into his hair. He didn't motion for her to leave, and instead he watched her as he listened; tight lipped and brows lowered. She didn't leave.

"_I have to go. I'll call you back_," Russia said after several moments then pulled the phone away from his ear. He stood and took a few steps towards her, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I've got people who are ready to amend a few bills to get the legislation for our marriage through. Immigration, trade, extradition, all of it, just like you want," he told her quietly

She frowned. "How did you manage to swing that in only an hour?"

"Contingency plans," he answered. "My boss and I worked it out that some of the other, I guess you'd call them bits, making their way onto the bill wasn't going to help it pass. We had people to announce the amendments, but we hadn't decided which bills to put them on until now. It'll probably be a month until all of them have been voted on, but they should all pass."

"Good," she said, though her people's anger continued to sting. She crossed her arms and tried to force her shoulders into a more relaxed position. "And I apologize for my earlier comments. They _were_ unnecessary. I guess I was…unduly influenced."

"Did that hurt?" he asked, cocking his head.

"What?"

"Apologizing," he said with a shrug. "You never apologize this quickly."

"And?" she asked suspiciously, her eyebrows pulling together.

"And nothing," he said, taking a step away from her. "Do you want dinner?"

"Yes," she responded, and he began to walk away. "But-,"

He threw her a glance over his shoulder, and she stopped speaking. He continued on to the kitchen without breaking stride. She pressed her lips together and drew in a shaky breath. He hadn't believed her.

She hardly ate dinner, and when night came; she curled herself into a ball at the edge of her side of the bed and wrapped the sheet around her snugly. She also woke to an empty bed in the morning. She pressed her face into her pillow and decided it was still too early.

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><p>For those not politically savvy, I picked immigration, trade agreementsreforms, and extradition because people generally don't like to have them change, but they feature in the special relationship between the US and the UK; though only the extradition is really formal. Immigration and trade agreements/reforms generally are considered to have negative affects economically (reciprocated or otherwise, but it's nice to have it reciprocated) though immigration also has the whole xenophobia aspect. Extradition isn't so economically relevant, but it's more of an 'if I'm going to give you your criminals back you should give me my criminals back' type of deal. It's just kind of shitty not to follow through, and makes Russia look super uncommitted in this chapter.

Also, foreign direct investment is important nowadays, especially if it's from the US, and Russia is currently having a really hard time just to get it's oligarchs to keep their money in Russia. I doubt it's going to change in the future so it's a problem if England is losing that investment over Russia, especially if he doesn't seem to be helping her out.

I'm not an expert. It's intentionally vague. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong so long as you do it nicely.

That said, sorry for the unhappy chapter. The next one will make things better. Please review anyways.


	29. Recovery

I meant to get this up for Christmas, but that didn't happen.

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><p>England turned down her music, listening for the door she'd thought she'd heard. She checked the time; two hours before Russia usually arrived. She listened hard and heard movement. She left her music on and slid out of her chair. She pulled open her office's door, paying close attention to the sound of the movement. She left the room, moving quietly in bare feet and curling her hands into fists. She tracked the noise to the kitchen. She stopped and dropped her fists at the sight of Russia in his kitchen.<p>

"I thought you were a bugler," she informed him, putting her hands on her hips and taking in his features. She hadn't seen him that morning, and she noticed the dark circles under his eyes first. He had also gone back to wearing a scarf even though she had thought that he given them up for the duration of the warmer weather. She could see the exhaustion weighing on him and saw him eyeing her up likewise. She had already seen her dark circles that morning in the mirror.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and leaned his palms against the counter separating them. He had said about as much to her in the entire week that had passed since he'd rejected her apology. "There's something we need to discuss," he finally said.

"You want to talk now?" she asked, stepping into the kitchen.

He frowned. "In case this should happen again, legislation not going the way we want it to, we should talk to our ambassadors and bosses. Those are the channels we used before, and we should use them again from now on."

"Take it out on them instead of each other?" she asked, moving further in; close enough that she put a hand on the counter.

He nodded. "Essentially."

"Well, I can agree to that," she said, pulling her hand off.

"Good," he said, pushing off the counter.

She could see herself skirting around the counter, pulling him into a hug, leaning against him, using that as her apology for making him angry and hurting him. Instead, she took a step back. "I've still got work to do."

"I'll let you know when dinner is ready," Russia told her, turning away.

She beat a quick retreat, taking the stairs back to her office nimbly and two at a time. She slowed as she neared her office and reluctantly returned to her work; suddenly preoccupied with calculating the changes that could be caused by her new agreement with Russia. She forced the thoughts from her mind eventually and worked quickly for the time left until dinner. She stopped when she smelled food. She wandered back down to the kitchen, pulling her hair over the shoulder her loose shirt exposed as she entered the room. He looked up when he saw her.

"I'm almost done," he said as he began to dish out and serve the meal.

She took a seat, thinking about the words she wanted to say now that they'd already talked once. He sat down next to her and began to eat. Instead of eating, England pushed her food around on her plate.

"Um, you do know that I meant my apology," she began, sitting up straighter as she spoke. "Last Friday, after our fight."

"Yes, I figured that out eventually," he said slowly in response.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked, turning towards him and dropping all pretense of being interested in eating.

"I only came to the realization yesterday. It took talking to Canada as well," he said, shrugging.

"You talked to Canada?"

"Yes, she gives better advice than your brother," he answered. "Is that a problem?"

"No, I'm just a little surprised you did it is all," she said, resting her wrists on the edge of the counter.

"I didn't want to make things worse," he said, shrugging.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Do you accept my apology?" she asked, folding her hands together.

"Yes, I don't want this situation to continue," he answered.

"Good," she said, wavering on whether or not she should reach out to him.

They sat together in awkward silence for a few moments. Russia then took a breath and asked, "Why the casual clothes?"

"It's Friday," she answered listlessly and threw up a hand. "I haven't been feeling great so I wore this."

He studied her for a moment. "I have caused trouble for you with the legislation."

"It's, well it's not fine, but I don't think it's going to last very long. People know you're getting the legislation through with other measures," she said, shaking her head.

"Hopefully, that will prove to be the case," he commented then returned to his food.

She stomached a few bites before returning to pushing her food around on her plate. She should feel better, especially now that he had accepted her apology, but she felt too out of sorts to eat much.

"I'll let you be," Russia said to excuse himself, getting up from his seat.

She reached out for his arm, but stopped herself before she touched him. She pulled her hand back and watched in silence as he cleaned up before leaving. Once he was gone, she dropped her fork onto her plate and pushed it all away from her. She ran her hands through her hair. She'd apologized, he'd accepted it, and he shouldn't still be trying to avoid her. He didn't have a reason to. She cleaned up her place, no longer hungry.

She left the kitchen, planning to find Russia and confront him. She paused a few steps outside of the kitchen, thinking that this might be a bad idea and that he'd left because he'd wanted to be left alone. She took a deep breath, deciding that answers were more important even if this would likely be another awkward conversation. She found him in the living room sitting staunchly upright and reading a book.

"What are you doing?" she asked, moving around to stand across from him.

"I'm reading," he answered, looking up from his book.

"Why?" she asked, immediately regretting not asking something more eloquent.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, thankfully putting the book down on the coffee table between them without her having to ask him to.

"Yes, you, is there something else I need to apologize for?" she asked, crossing her arms to keep her hands still.

"No, why would you think that?" he asked, leaning forwards.

"Cause you've gone straight back to avoiding me,"

"I'm not avoiding you," he said, shaking his head.

"Then what are you doing?"

"I was trying to give you space,"

"Why on earth would I need space? Space for what?"

"I was trying not to upset you," he explained, pulling back.

"How's that-?" she asked before cutting herself off and pressing her fingers to her forehead. "You've done this before haven't you?"

"Done what?" he asked, cautiously standing up.

"Yes, you have, I remember it," she said, thinking back to what she'd heard of Russia several centuries ago. "You're not supposed to stay away after a makeup. That's when you're supposed to get closer together."

"Is that what you want?" he asked, looking at her questioningly. "To get closer together?"

She balked at the blunt question. She felt her cheeks heating, and Russia continued to watch her. She swallowed thickly then answered, "Yes."

Now?"

"Preferably,"

"Is a hug alright then?" he asked as he came around the table towards her.

"Yes," she said, smiling as she held her arms out for him. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her head. She put her arms around his waist and squeezed him slightly, hoping it wouldn't be enough for him to really notice.

"This has been such a mess," he murmured.

"We'll do better next time," she promised, running a hand up his back.

"Let's hope there's not a next time," he countered.

"Alright, if there's a next time," she agreed.

"I should tell you, Canada told me something else about you," he told her, pulling only far enough away to look at her.

"Oh, what's that?" she asked, her stomach suddenly twisting.

"That it takes time for you to become well and truly angry, and that I should have come home as soon as the legislation failed and prevented you from becoming so angry," he told her.

"Oh," she said, tension easing as she thought over all the times she had become angry. "Well, I guess that's true. How did she figure that out?"

"I try not to think about how much Canada knows," Russia said, pulling her in again.

She chuckled and made sure to lean against him slightly now that she had the chance. "We're all lucky she doesn't like fighting."

"Definitely. I never want to have another week like this," he said as he released her. "I know I used to work this long before we married, but I've gotten used to working less."

"And what about the week before?" she asked, leaving her hands on his waist but considering pulling them away.

He smiled serenely and pulled one of her hands off his waist and brought it to his lips. "I was still able to spend time with you the week before."

If her cheeks were warm before they were burning now. "Stop flirting,"

Why?" he asked, pulling her hand away only for her to see him nearly grinning. "You said you wanted to be closer."

"I don't!" she responded instantly. "I do, but stop."

"Fine," he said, dropping her hands entirely and taking a step away. "I must confess; I have missed spending time with you like this."

"I haven't," she said, rubbing her cheek.

"Liar," he accused warmly.

"You're not supposed to make that sound like a compliment," she told him, tucking her hands into her pockets like she'd seen him do.

He shrugged. "I'm not going to argue about that after a week of not talking. I do have good news though. I've been meaning to tell you, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up."

"Did Canada tell you something else?"

"No, this is about my boss. His daughter has been married for over a year, and we're getting rumors around the office that she'll be having a child with her husband soon. She's been trying to get my boss to curb his hours the entire time he's been in office. A child might be enough to convince him to finally do it."

"Does this mean you'll be able to cut back on your hours as well?" she asked.

"That's what I'm hoping. It won't be for several months still,"

"We'll have moved by then. I hope you get time off around then. There's going to be a lot of work to do," she said, crossing her arms.

"We've got a few weeks left, but I'll start talking with him," he said with a sharp nod.

"I can't believe I've lived with you for this long," she admitted moving around him to take a seat on the couch.

"What, were you expecting something else to happen in the meantime?" he asked, taking a seat beside her and his eyes too sharp to be completely joking.

"I don't know what I expected anymore. I had trouble imagining what could happen once we'd married before, and now? Everything's changed so much, even my expectations have changed," she said shrugging and holding up her hands.

"In a good way or in a bad way?" he asked, pulling one of her hands into his.

She paused for a moment, distracted by him holding her hand. "I don't know. It just has. We've been through a few bad things now, but most of the time it's pretty good, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I think so. I've found that sometimes this marriage has been…rather easy," he confessed, leaning towards her.

"Easy?"

"In a good way, I thought it would be a hassle for most of these earlier months," he explained with a shrug.

"Just wait until you have to move into a different house. You'll feel it then. Especially as my siblings are likely to be there for the first few days," she warned him, desperately trying to keep her eyes on his and not his lips.

"I suppose I shall," he said, making a face like he was bracing for impact.

She chuckled. "I expect you'll handle it better than I did. We know each other much better now than when I moved in. I always seem to be meeting you on your ground rather than mine."

"Alright, I'm not quite sure what you mean by that, but next time we'll meet on your ground," he said, and she watched his lips curve as he smiled.

"Well, I first met you in one of your palaces. I've had a couple revealing experiences with you since, also here. Then I moved in with you when after we got married and got to know you better here," she explained.

"Like that, I understand,"

"Next time, hopefully, we'll meet in my garden," she said, knowing that there would still be a few warm nights left after moving into her house.

"I think I'd like that," he said, brushing his thumb across her skin. "Are you going to tell me more about it?"

"No, I think I'll leave it a surprise," she said, grinning secretively.

* * *

><p>I also tried to get the angst to last two chapters, but that also didn't happen. Hopefully this turned out better than you were expecting.<p>

Please review!


	30. Morning and Night

Here's the next chapter, right at the tail end of the month.

* * *

><p>England woke, warm and relaxed, with Russia's arm curled around her. She waited a few moments, but only felt his chest moving against her back as he breathed. She smiled and told herself she'd roll over and wake him as soon as she had the energy. It took a few more minutes of enjoying the fuzzy contentedness before she felt ready to break the stillness. She turned over and whispered, "Russia."<p>

He didn't wake immediately, and she tapped him on the shoulder. He shifted, opened his eyes, smiled, then nuzzled his face back into his pillow; eyes closed again. "Don't go back to sleep," she said, propping herself up on her elbow.

He didn't say anything, but she saw his smile widen. She sighed and rolled her eyes. She bit her lip then reached out for Russia's hair, lightly skimming over his hair on the first pass. When he didn't brush her hand away, she began to thread her fingers through his hair; avoiding the tangles. The repetitive motion and the texture of his hair soothed her, and she began twining his hair around her fingers in a poor attempt to make curls.

"Keep doing that, and I really will fall asleep again," he murmured, tapping her on her back.

"But I'm having such fun," she said dryly, pulling her fingers loose from his hair.

"You don't have to stop,"

She imagined leaning over to kiss his check, but she didn't move her hand back towards his hair.

"What do you want to get up for?" he asked, running his hand over her back.

"I don't know. I want to do something," she said, shrugging.

"Like what?" he asked, rolling onto his back and pulling his arm away from her. "I can't imagine wanting to get up and do something right now."

She twisted her lips, looking away to distract herself from thinking about laying her head on his shoulder. She sighed and sat up, pushing the sheet off her. "You don't need to leave," Russia said, concern apparent in his voice as he sat up behind her. "There's no point in staying in bed if you're going to get up."

"I just want to take a shower," she said with a shrug.

He raised his eyebrows and looked for a moment like he wanted to say something more. "Go ahead then," he said eventually, lying back down.

She slid out of bed and readied her shower. She took full advantage of having the time to take a luxuriously long, hot shower. She stepped out feeling wonderfully clean, and after drying herself, slid on a pair of jeans for a second day. She had another comfortable cotton shirt to wear as well, but her upgrade to lacy lingerie could remain her secret.

She left the bathroom to find Russia still in bed, but sitting up. "You're kind of out of it this morning," she commented.

"I'm still tired," he said, yawning before running a hand over his face.

"We can take it easy today," she said, heading towards the door.

"I'll meet you downstairs," he said, finally getting out of bed.

She headed down to the kitchen, hearing the water start running before she made it even halfway down the stairs. She put on water for tea and took a seat as she waited for Russia.

"You're not going to make breakfast, are you?" he asked once he'd finished his shower and joined her in the kitchen.

"You got down awful quick," she said, eying him and how it looked like he'd only done a half job of drying off.

"I remembered halfway through what happened the last time I took a shower and you were down in the kitchen," he said, smiling as he moved to stand beside her.

England raised her eyebrows, remembering very clearly the lack of outfit that time. "I should cook breakfast more often."

"Please don't," he said, shifting so that he stood behind her. He also put his hands on the counter, one to each side of her.

"Nothing got damaged," she pointed out, watching his hands and sitting up straighter.

"You still set off the smoke alarm," he said, chuckling and wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. "I can handle breakfast."

"Afraid of a little excitement in the morning?" she asked, almost smiling and making then aborting a move to put her hands over his.

"There are better things to get excited about in the morning than smoke alarms," he answered as he tightened his hold and pulled her back against his chest.

"I need to make the tea," she said, shifting in his arms.

"It can't wait?"

"No, and do you want any?"

"I'll pass," he said, and released her.

She slid down from her chair and started on the tea. By the time she had her tea steeping, Russia had begun preparing breakfast. She watched as he pulled out eggs, cinnamon, and bread. "We're having French toast?" she asked.

"I thought we could celebrate a little for…can we call it getting back together?" he asked as he began scrambling the eggs.

"We didn't separate. We had a fight then got past it. There's a difference," she explained with a shrug.

He nodded and continued cooking. She leaned back against the counter. "I still think we should do something today."

"You want to go on a date?" he asked, turning towards her to present a smile.

"Yes," she said, raising her head. "We should go out."

"Where? Do you want to see a movie?"

"Sure, do you know what's showing?"

"No, but we can check after breakfast."

"Good so long as it's not an action movie," she said, turning to finish preparing her tea.

"Why not an action movie?"

"If we're going to go on a date, I don't want to see an action movie," she said, pulling down plates for their breakfast. As she passed him to set them on island, she continued, "How are you supposed to whisper translations to me if they don't actually talk for half the movie?"

He nodded. "Excellent point."

She smiled and set down the plates before returning to her tea. After several slices of French toast, most of them eaten by Russia, and cleaning up, they retreated to Russia's office to pick out a movie together. He pulled up the website for the nearest movie theater.

"Oh, look," he said, pointing to one of the titles on the screen. "They have a movie about Zhemtchugova."

"Is that the woman who married the guy who built Ostankino?" she asked, putting a hand on the back of his chair and onto the desk to lean towards the screen. She still couldn't read all of the Russian, but she could make out the woman's name and the palace's.

"Yes, I'm surprised you remember," he said. "It'll play this afternoon."

"Is it from her point of view?" she asked, squinting at the screen.

"Is it her story? I think so," he said with a shrug. "Do you want to see it?"

"Only if you promise not to make corrections the whole way through," she said, smiling at him.

"I promise."

* * *

><p>After the movie, which Russia spent a good portion of whispering translated flirtations into England's ear, and a rather long discussion of the film over a decent meal at a nearby restaurant; they returned home with hardly any time left before they usually went to sleep. England, however, had one last task to complete.<p>

"What are you bringing your laptop in here for?" Russia asked, sitting upright on the bed.

"I need to talk to you about something," she said, setting her laptop down on the bed before climbing on to sit beside him.

"Like what?" he asked.

"You know how I told you that I wanted to renovate my kitchen?" she asked as she pulled the laptop onto her lap.

"Yes," he said warily, eyeing the computer suspiciously.

"Well, I figured I'd get your opinion on things before I go and change everything," she explained, pulling up a web browser to get to her bookmarks. "Now, my kitchen is smaller than yours so there won't be room to eat in the kitchen, but I have what used to be a small butler's pantry and we can eat in there instead. Still, I've got cheap counters, and ripped up linoleum flooring, and one of the burners on the stove doesn't work. I think if you're going to be cooking in there we should get at least a new stove, but probably a few other appliances as well."

"You want to do this now?"

"Well, we need to start on it sometime, and I thought now might be good," she explained with a shrug.

"Isn't it a little late for this?" he asked, rubbing his face.

"No, we still have a little time," she said, checking the clock. "Besides there's only a few weeks until we have to move. That reminds me, I need to put in the order for your furniture."

"You need to put in the order? You don't have it already?"

"I had a hard time deciding what to get and by the time I did; I wouldn't have had time to put it in before having to leave. I wasn't going to let my siblings deal with it," she said, shrugging. "I figured it would be better to do it when we moved into my house. I can get your opinion on it now, too."

"England, how long did it take you to pick something out?" he asked, staring at her incredulously. "Is that why we need to start on the kitchen now?"

"Yes, I'm just a little," she waved her hand in a circle. "Particular. I have a bunch of things picked out to consider though."

"Are we going to go through them all now?" he asked, brushing back his bangs.

"No, we don't have to, but I'd like to at least start with the flooring," she said, opening several bookmarks at once. "I know you have wood flooring in your kitchen, but I was thinking tile for mine."

"If you want," he said, shrugging.

"Alright, well, I was thinking there shouldn't be any white 'cause it's too bright and stark and I want something warmer," she said, flicking to a tab with tan tiles.

"That's fine. How dark do you want to go?" he asked, settling beside her with the hand carrying his weight placed behind her back.

"Not too dark because then the room would feel too small," she responded, flicking to another tab.

"Is the floor going to be the base color?"

"Probably so we can really pick anything,"

"Good to know."

"Well, let's get started then."

They spent around an hour flipping through tabs and evaluating her booked marked options. England shut down her laptop and returned it to her office as Russia readied for bed. She readied for bed in the bathroom after he'd finished. England crawled into bed beside Russia, and she pulled his arm over her waist. He chuckled and leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek. She froze.

* * *

><p>I have an announcement. When Russia and England move into England's house, I'm going to switch over to a sequel. "Marriage" will be changed to a completed story, and I'll take a month to edit it before starting to post the sequel. Unfortunately, right now I don't have a title for you to watch out for when the time comes.<p>

In any case, I'll keep you posted on the sequel, and please review!


	31. Perfume

I'm not completely sure what I was doing with this, but for the most part I like it. Also, I did manage to get this in for Valentine's Day.

* * *

><p>England swung her chair around towards the door when she heard the knocks. Russia stood in the open doorway, knuckles against the frame.<p>

"You wear perfume, right?" he asked.

"Yes, why?" she returned slowly, suspicious of the question.

"No reason, just curious," he answered quickly, scratching the side of his head just behind his ear, "I thought I smelled you today, at work, which was until I realized it must've been someone with the same perfume. It's a lot less weird to notice that some woman was wearing the same perfume as you than noticing that some other woman smelled the same way you do, yeah?"

England nodded, not sure what to say or what he wanted to hear.

"Anyways, I'm going to go make dinner," he said immediately before leaving for the kitchen.

She turned back to her paperwork and could not remember what she had been typing just a moment before. She turned her head and lifted her collar up to her nose to sniff it. The smell of her favorite perfume greeted her as it usually did. She suddenly felt self-conscious as she released her collar. Just how much time had she been spending with Russia that he'd come to associate a smell as being hers?

She hurriedly sniffed her collar again. She wondered how odd it was that this smell had become as recognizable to her husband as the color of her eyes. She tried to imagine what she would think if it been the opposite and she had smelled Russia somewhere, but couldn't even recall a scent. She did her best to force those thoughts aside and focus on her work in the few minutes remaining before dinner.

She left for the kitchen around a half hour later, and Russia finished serving the meal as she entered the room.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" she asked as they took their seats.

"No, what?" he asked, turning from his plate to face her.

"Do you like my perfume?" she asked timidly, rubbing her fingers over the back of her neck. "The scent anyways, I mean, now that I know you've noticed it, I was curious as to what you thought of it…"

He seemed to be partly considering the question and partly amused by her stumbling words. "I haven't thought about it before, but I like it," he told her with a shrug. "I think it suits you."

"Oh, well, thank you," she responded catching herself toying with the ends of her hair. She forced her hand to let go of her hair.

"It was just…surprising," he said slowly. "But it wasn't bad."

She held her tongue from making any more comments on the subject, letting Russia switch topics and discuss how the legislation was progressing. She spoke sparingly through dinner, and Russia noticed.

"Are you alright? You've been a little quiet," he commented to her once they'd retired to their bedroom later.

She pulled out her earrings as she considered the words she would say next. "Just out of curiosity, do you actually know what the scent of my perfume is, or did you only recognize it?"

"It's roses, mostly. Why?" he asked, leaning back against the bed.

"When you told me earlier that you'd recognized the smell of my perfume, I realized that I didn't know what you smelled like," she said, turning around to face him.

He began to unbutton his shirt. "Is that important?"

"Well, do you care if I know what you smell like?" she asked, moving towards him.

"I don't think it matters much," he replied, finished with his buttons and revealing his undershirt.

"Would you mind then if I tried to figure out what it smelled like anyways?"

She raised an eyebrow and he started to smile. He sat down on the bed, chest angled towards hers. "You're welcome to try."

"Let's see then," she said, leaning towards him and aiming for the portion of his neck just below his ear. She tried not to be self-conscious about her breath, especially as he was sensitive there. "I'm not really smelling anything."

She reached up and took hold of his shirt just below his collar. She pulled him towards her so that her nose almost touched his skin. "There's something but I can't tell what it is," she whispered.

She curled an arm around his shoulders and raised her head so that her lips were to his ear. "Maybe it's worn off."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and said in return, "You're welcome to try again tomorrow."

She nearly bolted backwards, straightening from her position and flushing. He shook his head. "You always move away again."

"It's not like I mean to," she blurted out, loosening her grip on him.

"But you still do," he responded softly.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Stop acting like you're afraid," he said, looking at her sharply. "I _hate_ it when you flinch away. I'm not going to hurt you."

England opened her mouth and snapped it shut again. "I can't just do that."

"It's been months, and you still won't accept anything,"

"Months are nothing, and I'm trying. I'm sorry if I've been giving you the wrong impression or whatever, but you're too much at once," she said, pulling her hands away.

"Too much at once? How?"

"I can't explain it. It's like you come on too strong."

"Come on too strong? Like excessive flirting and touching, too strong? How's that? I've barely come on at all,"

"Dear God," she said, eyes widening. "That's barely coming on for you?"

"Yes,"

She shook her head, moving away and slipping out of his arms. She sat down next to him. "This is not going to work."

"It wasn't working before either," he said, shaking his head and turning partially away.

"I thought it was alright. We were getting somewhere."

"It wasn't enough," he retorted.

"What do you mean it wasn't enough? I sit with you while you cook. I have dinner with you. I'm with you every night. I've been on dates with you. I'm living with you, Russia," she pointed out, frustrated.

"That's fine, but we barely ever touch. We've started to now, but you always pull away," he countered.

"You know," she said sharply, taking to her feet. "If it was just sex, it'd be fine, but it's not just sex."

"It'd better not be because we're clearly not going to have that any time soon,"

She scowled at him. "You don't think I miss it, too? But we're not married just to be having sex."

"Then why bring it up?" he asked.

"We're talking about touching. Only my previous sex partners have touched me as much as you have," she said then rolled her eyes. "In different places, but the point stands."

"That little?" he said, tilting his head. "You must not have been having very good sex then."

"Oh? You're going to prove different then?" she asked, holding her hands out.

"Why? Interested in finding out?" he asked, crossing his arms.

She licked her lips and flicked her eyes over him. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

His eyebrows shot up. "So you are attracted to me."

"I thought you would have noticed by now," she said with a shrug, flushing and moving her hand to clutch one of her elbows.

"I noticed something had changed, but I hadn't been sure what."

"And now?"

"Really, I'd like to kiss you, not that you'd agree to it."

"I might have gone along with what we were doing earlier if you hadn't commented," she responded evenly.

He looked positively mortified. "I won't do it again."

"Good," she said, turning away from him. "I'm going to change then. If you want to talk about it more, you can wait until I'm finished,"

"We're definitely talking about this more," he said, standing.

She gathered her pajamas and headed towards the bathroom. "Fine."

She changed and finished preparing herself for bed before reentering the bedroom to find that Russia had also finished changing into pajamas. He passed her on his way to the bathroom, and she climbed on to the bed to wait. As he walked towards the bed after finishing in the bathroom, he said, "I think it's a matter of control."

She raised her brows. "Control?"

"Yes, you don't like it when someone else starts it. You're fine when you start something, but as soon as I do it you move away, ending it on your terms."

"And you don't want control?" she challenged.

"I'm not saying that, but I don't stop when you do something,"

"Great, keep it up then," she sneered, pulling the blanket over herself.

"England,"

"What?" she snapped.

"I just want to be close to you,"

"There's no just about anything in this marriage. Why are you so desperate to be close to me anyways? Is my time not enough?"

"No, it's not that. I like spending time with you and going on dates and such, and I told you already. You called it, uh, touch-y feel-y. It feels weird not to touch you. If you don't want me starting it, can you at least try more often then?" he asked, sitting down on the bed beside her.

England sighed and rubbed the side of her head through her hair, feeling more settled after Russia had assured her that her time hadn't been meaningless to him. She wanted to tell him the same. "I think I can."

"Great," he said, sounding surprised but still smiling.

She acted on a split second decision before she could consider it further and threw her arms around Russia, hooking one arm around his neck and the other over his shoulder. He barely budged as he took the brunt of her momentum and quickly wrapped his arms around her in turn. He kissed her cheek, and she could feel his smile. "This is good," he said contentedly, relaxing in her hold.

She murmured an agreement and began to thread her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I still can't smell anything."

"Try tomorrow," he said then kissed her neck in almost the same spot where she usually dabbed her perfume.

"Maybe you just have a better nose than me," she mused.

"England," he said, pulling back enough so that their noses were nearly touching.

"I know, you just want to enjoy the moment," she said, rolling her eyes.

He placed his forehead gently against hers. "Exactly."

England tried to hold her half-kneeling position as long as she could before it became too uncomfortable to bear. She eventually had to lower herself, creating distance between her and Russia. "Sorry, here, sit on my lap," he said, easily adjusting and repositioning her.

Her cheeks heated, and she tried to cover them with her hands, thankful that at least she wasn't straddling him.

"Don't do that," he said, gently tugging on one of her wrists.

"I can if I want to," she countered, despite letting him pull her hand away.

He pressed a kiss to her uncovered cheek. "You blush a lot for someone who's, you call it experienced, don't you?"

"Yes, but I never said I didn't blush then, too,"

He pulled her hand towards his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Something to look forward to."

"You're getting a kick out of this," she accused, narrowing her eyes. "I shouldn't have told you anything."

"I think it's cute, Зайка моя (Zayka moya)," he said, grinning cheekily and slipping his hand underneath hers to press his palm against her cheek.

"Have I told you that France still occasionally calls me _mon lapin_?"

"Why would you even feel the need to tell me that right now?" he asked, looking completely put out.

She laughed, shoulders shaking. "It's not funny," he groused, dropping his hands to her hips and practically pouting at her.

"No, it's hilarious," she said before finally quieting her laughter. "And it's alright. I like it better when you do it anyways."

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Hm, and you blush, too."

"You cheated,"

"How?" she asked, circling her arms over his shoulders.

"I was going to kiss you before you kissed me," he said, placing a finger beneath her chin.

"I didn't cheat," she said, voice too breathy to come out as a strong retort.

He had his eyes on her lips, and he incrementally tilted her chin up.

* * *

><p>And there you have it. They get to talk about sex as a possibility in the future, and they both know they're attracted to one another. Little bit of seeing things different with England really caring about her time as a romantic gesture, and Russia needing to show his affections through physical gestures. I get them to come around though so I can finally fit in fluffy stuff (and England's definitely giving up some control for Russia even if he's not completely aware of it).<p>

In other news, I've gone back around to wanting to write an Olympics!AU but this time winter sports with Russia as a figure skater (totally because of Plushenko) and England as a snowboarder. We'll see if it happens. Please review!


	32. Moving Out

It's a little on the short side, but this is it. This is the last chapter of _Marriage_. I get to italicize the title now because of rules I'm pretty sure I just made up on the spot where if I finished a multichapter fic I'd upgrade from the quotation marks used for poem and short story titles to the italics used for book titles. This is the first time I've been able to do this so I'm really proud of myself, even more so because I pretty much kept to my schedule on top of that.

Anyways, enjoy the last chapter!

* * *

><p>"England, please, calm down," Russia said, hands on her shoulders.<p>

"I'm trying, but it isn't helpful that your bureau won't be arriving on time. I mean, the first thing I'm going to have to do is already taking things out of my closet to make room for yours," she said, taking deep breaths.

"I thought you said you already did that."

"I did round one, but I have a lot of things," she said, dropping her shoulders and looking up at him. "I wanted this to go seamlessly."

"It's fine," he assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's hard to do this when you're not there. Besides, we've finished the plans for the kitchen like you wanted to."

"Yes, there is that at least. We also don't have to worry about work for a few days. We have the plane tickets, and Scotland will be there to pick us up," she said then grabbed a hold of his wrist. "You have been talking to Scotland, right? He's less likely to do something weird or embarrassing if you've been talking with him."

"I've talked with him a few times,"

"Oh, I hope that will be enough. He's been suspiciously calm every time I've called him this week,"

"He's happy you're frazzled, but I told him it wasn't funny,"

"Did you? Good," she said, moving away absent mindedly. She ran her hand over the two boxes they'd packed; double checking the labels and that everything was there. She turned towards her suitcases and other bags only to run practically head first into Russia. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"I didn't. Please stop worrying. Everything's fine, and we still have tomorrow before we leave."

"But my siblings, and the furniture, and the renovation, what if we forget something?" she said, wringing her hands and looking around him towards her suitcase.

"We haven't forgotten anything, you've ensured that, and your siblings can't be any worse than mine. We'll be fine," he said, taking her hands and distracting her from her luggage.

"You're only saying that to try and make me feel better. Besides, your sisters are better behaved than my brothers," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You only think that because they're not your sisters. England, just stop for tonight. We'll watch a movie tonight and you can worry tomorrow," he said, bringing her hands up and kissing her fingers.

"You've said that for the past three nights," she accused despite not pulling her hands away.

"It's worked for the past three nights, too," he said, turning one of her hands over to kiss the inside of her wrist. "You don't need to be so stressed."

"I can't help it,"

"Just one more night," he pleaded, pulling her hands towards his chest.

"No,"

"No?"

"We're out of time, and this needs to get done," she said, looking at him pointedly.

He released her hands in frustration. "You stressed and worried isn't going to help anything. All it's doing is winding me up. You barely even stop so we can sleep."

"I just want to make sure everything turns out okay," she said, taking his hands and looking up at him with wide eyes.

He rolled his eyes. "That's not going to work anymore. It's admirable, but I don't like this. It's fine if the move is a mess or even a complete disaster. Just let me breathe for five minutes now."

She let out a harsh breath. "Fine."

"Really?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "That's great, good. Let's pick out a movie then."

"Ugh," she said, dropping their hands. "Please nothing in Russian. I can't take any more of it right now."

"What do you mean any more of it? We haven't even been doing the lessons," he said, shaking his head.

"I know, but it takes so much effort to process. Please, just not tonight," she said, taking a step towards him and leaning her weight against him.

"We can skip to the cuddling if you want,"

"No, that's not any better. There's still Russian involved."

"Rude,"

She laughed half-heartedly. "Let's just not do anything then."

"That might be best."

She wrapped her arms loosely around him. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"It's probably because I have no idea what I'm getting into," he admitted with a shrug and a half smile.

"That's most certainly true," she said, frowning. "What's the longest you've been abroad before?"

"A month or two without coming back at all, and I was there with a few of my citizens. Why?"

"You really do have no idea what you're getting into. It's a very good thing we started off here. You sure you're up for six months?"

He shrugged. "Work might be a little difficult, but it should be fine otherwise,"

"Really? That's optimistic of you," she said, patting his back once before moving away towards her luggage. "No reason for you to be rubbing your shoulders so much then."

He sighed and said in warning, "England."

"What? I'm allowed to notice things, too. This move is a big deal. That's why I wanted it to go seamlessly," she said, sifting through and recounting what she had packed.

He ran his hand over the back of his neck. "It's not the getting there or getting everything in order that's going to be the problem. It's going to be after the first month or so."

"It'll be nearly November then," she said, trying to remember when the first snow came the year before. "Is it going to be because you'll have been away for so long or because it'll be nearing winter?"

He gave her a pointed look, and didn't answer. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. "My winters aren't as harsh."

"Yes, but I still have mine," he said, finding empty space around the luggage to sit on the bed. "We should clear some of this out for tomorrow."

"We can take the boxes down," she said, moving to grab the first one.

"You sure you don't want to watch a movie?" he asked, grabbing the other.

"Yes," she said, exasperated. "We can watch something on the plane."

"That's two days from now. What are we going to do before then?" he said, chuckling, as she rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>England spent their final day in Russia's home running around and managing the last details. She double checked everything and asked Russia for the umpteenth time if he was sure he'd packed everything. She fidgeted and tossed and turned in bed that night, but Russia managed to calm her down enough get her to stop moving.<p>

The following morning, England woke groggy. She sighed and pulled the sheet up higher. "I guess I'll be taking the first shower then," Russia said, pulling away from her and getting up. England meant to get up, but she ended up dozing off and waking again when Russia came out of the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he came over to the bed.

"Yeah, I just didn't sleep well," she said, sitting up.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, hand coming to her neck to keep her still. "Sorry to hear that."

"I'll be fine," she said, patting his arm and getting out of bed. She showered sluggishly, but otherwise remained true to her words. She came out of the bathroom and saw that he had removed the last of his luggage from the room. She tucked away the last of her toiletries then hauled her suitcase down to join his.

"The taxi should be here soon," he informed her, looking out the window as he spoke.

"Great, it'll be over soon enough,"

"Can you believe it's happening?"

"That we're moving? It's easy compared to everything else."

"Well, you're going back,"

She gingerly placed a hand on his back. "It won't be so bad once we're there."

"Hopefully," he said, turning from the window but not quite facing her.

"It'll only be six months and then we'll be back,"

He crossed his arms and shifted his weight, eyes still roaming the space behind her. "Was it like this for you moving here?"

"Not at all," she said with a dry laugh. "Not even leaving here is like leaving home. I want to say that this move doesn't matter, like we're just putting our clothes away somewhere different. That's not true at all, though. Everything will be different."

"Everything?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, everything," she said with a sigh before pushing back her hair. She walked up to him and placed her hands on his waist, beginning to smile. "After we finish this move, everything is going to be a little off. It could go horribly wrong, but for once I don't think it will. I'll show you my garden. We'll renovate the kitchen 'till it's fit for you to cook in. We'll see London, go to a show or two. I'll probably take you for tea with the king. Then we'll work our way to our first wedding anniversary and steal France's best wine to celebrate with."

He smiled, ducking his head for a moment. "We're not going to celebrate by stealing France's wine."

"But that's the only proper way to do it," she said, grinning. "It's a proven fact."

Russia leaned down towards her, and a horn honked outside. They both turned to look out and see the taxi parked in front of the house. "Time to go then," he said, moving around her to grab his luggage and a box to carry out. "Most expensive taxi ride ever."

"You're the one who didn't want to leave their car at the airport for six months,"

"You didn't do it,"

"I have siblings near enough to help me out," she said primly, taking her luggage and box and following him out onto the doorstep.

He set down his box to free his hand and close the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, but he didn't shut it immediately. She looked past him, feeling a new sense of attachment for the place only now when she was leaving it. It came partially from the number of hours and days she'd spent living inside of it. The larger portion came from living there with Russia. They had started their marriage together inside and potentially more. She jumped as the door shut before her.

She looked over to Russia, and he couldn't keep the barest hint of a frown off his face. "Let's go," he said, picking up the box again.

She would have preferred for him to be as excited as she was to head home to London, but she didn't blame him for his dour mood as she hadn't exactly been happy to join him here. She followed him to the taxi, and he loaded everything into the trunk with the help of the driver.

"Airport, right?" the taxi driver asked as they settled into their seats.

Russia nodded. The driver pulled away from the curb. England reached out for Russia's hand and pulled it into her lap. He didn't say anything, but he squeezed her hand once before threading his fingers between hers.

* * *

><p>They've still got different concerns and priorities down to the last of it.<p>

Here's the deal. I'm going to spend March 2014 editing this entire story and updating each chapter. I'm not sure how much I'll change in edits, but I'll let you know if there's any important changes. I don't have a title for the sequel yet, and I'm definitely open for suggestions.

I've also written ahead so I should be able to get the first chapter of the sequel out at the end of March without any breaks in my updating schedule.

If you've been reading this since the beginning or close to, thanks for staying with this story for so long. Thanks to everybody for reading and the general success this story has had. Hopefully, the sequel will do just as well and make sure to keep a look out for it.

Still, please review (especially as this is it for _Marriage_)!


	33. Author's Note

I know you're not supposed to do this, but I wanted to make sure that everyone got this information. I've decided that _Marriage_'s rewrite should be its own story so that people can keep track of its progression and review and all that. It also is probably going to help keep things straight for me while I continue trying to rewrite it, especially as I have to finish the rewrite before I can put up the sequel. This whole process is a lot more challenging than I thought it was going to be.

So, if you want to keep up with the rewrite and possibly get information on _Marriage_'s sequel, the rewrite is posted here on ffnet and titled "Kissing at Arm's Length".


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